


Stuck On You

by muffliato13



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward shower sharing, Boys Kissing, Boys fighting, Clueless Simon, Creature Attacks, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Mint Aeros, Or not, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, What Have I Done, angsty baz, botched spells, but there were no numpties, eventually, gay teenage vampires, if they don't kill each other first, magic sharing, maybe seventh year, possibly eighth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muffliato13/pseuds/muffliato13
Summary: Simon's magic once again goes completely, totally, utterly wrong. He and Baz are forced to deal with the aftermath in MUCH closer proximity than either of them can handle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic since some pretty awful HP stuff like 5 years ago. It almost did not get written. But the idea would. Not. Leave. Me. Alone. So here you go, world!!!! You’re welcome! (I think.)

#### BAZ

My hand shakes slightly as I gently place the final piece on top of the scale model of Watford. I hold it firmly in place to set the glue, then slowly withdraw my hand. The piece doesn’t move. I heave a great sigh, grinning in relief. This Magickal History term project has taken me all weekend, holed up in my turret room arranging complicated pieces for hours, only pausing briefly to eat and sleep. I’ve been pressed for time—I only had this bedroom to myself for two days. I felt like I had to make the most of this time where I could focus, uninterrupted by Simon and his impossible-to-ignore, overwhelming presence. 

Simon had left on Friday night with Wellbelove and her parents. From what I gathered, they were off to some Equestrian competition in Kent. Simon is due back late Sunday evening, which means I still have a good few hours before he’s meant to be home. I think I’ll just stretch out on my bed and take a short nap without his stupid snuffling snores and small sleep-hums and stupid toned shoulders and bare chest peeking out from under his school-issued bedcovers. The man never sleeps with a sodding shirt on, not when it’s even marginally warm outside. 

I scowl darkly. Why does he always manage to invade my thoughts, even while he’s miles away? Simon and his stupid golden curls…his jutting chin…that mole just beside his left eye that disappears in the crinkles when he smiles. His obnoxious laugh. 

I shake myself. _He’s not even here, Basilton._

A nap, for perhaps an hour, and then I can be long gone, hunting in peace in the Wavering Wood long before Simon returns. I’m not super thirsty yet, though I know I’ll definitely need to hunt within the next day or so. Now would be as good a time as any, especially without the threat of Simon following me with his too-perceptive gaze, if not his whole self. He hasn’t actually followed me down to the catacombs or out to the Wood in a while, but I can never be too cautious around him. I’ve learned it can never hurt to be fully fueled, especially after so long being away from Simon. I need all the strength I can get when he comes back, practically bubbling over with euphoria from his weekend away with his girlfriend. I grimace—I just know he’s going to be insufferable. The prat. 

I stretch enormously and head into the bathroom, leaving my model in the middle of the floor. Such a luxury, knowing nobody can disturb it while I’m not keeping my eye on it. I go about my business in the bathroom, humming softly to myself. 

As I flush the toilet, I hear the all-too-familiar sound of thundering footsteps from the hallway outside our room. My stomach sinks in dread. Snow is back a full three hours early. 

I turn quickly from the sink, but it’s too late. I hear the door to our room swing open, followed by a sickening crunch and a colourful string of swears. No, no, no—the idiot just stepped on my model of Watford! Why did I wait to move it to the top of the wardrobe? Cursing myself, but mostly him for being such a blundering fool, I yank open the bathroom door. 

Snow is crouching on the floor beside my model. He has a piece of the Cloisters in his hand, hovering over the model as though he’s going to try and stick it back on. I can already smell smoke, feel the blistering charge in the air that means he’s gearing up to use his magic. I lunge forward and take hold of his wrist before I realize what I’m doing.

“NO, SNOW!” I bellow, but again, I’m too late. He’s already casting some asinine spell.

**“I’m gonna stick like glue!”** I feel the white-hot burst as the magic explodes from him, wild and uncontrolled. 

He lets go of the small piece, and it topples to the floor, decidedly unstuck to the rest of the model. I can’t help but roll my eyes. The fool can never manage the simplest of spells. Why does he even bother with magic?

“You plonker!” I hiss. “That took me hours, and you’ve gone and ruined it.” My hand is still clasped tightly around his wrist. I resist the urge to yank his arm out of its socket.

“Sorry Baz, it was a mistake!” he says hastily. “Where’s the glue, I’ll fix--”

“No you bloody well won’t fix it! Get your grubby paws off my homework,” I growl.

“Get your clammy hands off me!” he retorts angrily, trying to tug his arm out of my grasp.

I attempt to let go, but my hand will not unclasp. It’s stuck firmly around Snow’s wrist in a vice-like grip. We struggle for a second, but it’s useless. My hand will _not_ come away from his arm. 

We make eye contact, horrifying realization dawning at the same moment. Snow’s spellcasting has once again gone stunningly, colossally, terribly awry.

 

#### SIMON

Baz’s hand is stuck to my arm. Like really, truly, actually stuck. The massive idiot has gone and intercepted my spell, and it misfired in the worst possible way. His hand. Will not. Come off. I begin to panic slightly.

“Get off me!” I give an almighty tug, but Baz’s hand refuses to budge. He must be having me on—playing a sick joke.

“I can’t,” he says, his jaw set in a hard line. 

“What do you mean you can’t!? Just—let go of me!” I shout, struggling in his tight grip.

“Are you deaf? I. Can’t,” Baz grits out through clenched teeth. “Your magic skills are truly appalling. Aleister Crowley, Snow! Look what you’ve done!”

“Look what _I’ve_ done?! Baz, I was just trying to fix your stupid sculpture! Why’d you have to go and leave it in the middle of the floor, anyway? Right there, blocking my path! Stupid place to keep the thing.”

“I was just about to move it. Why can you never simply look where you’re going? I swear, you are the least coordinated human I’ve ever met.” He attempts to yank his hand away again, with little result. “Undo the spell, Snow,” he snaps.

“Undo—but I—“

“You heard me. Undo. The bloody spell.” 

“Right.” I stare at his pale, veiny hand and concentrate hard. **“Don’t touch me,”** I cast. 

I feel a slight tingle in my wrist where Baz’s palm rests. It fizzles quickly. His hand doesn’t move.

**“Hands off!”**

Nothing. Baz’s grip is beginning to cut off my circulation.

**“Get away from me!”**

I glance up, and Baz shakes his head in disgust. “Try again,” he says tersely.

**“Can’t touch this!”** I attempt. 

Nothing happens. 

“Right. Okay. Let’s try something more general. **As you were.”** That spell has never worked quite right for me. Penny has always been better at that sort of thing. As expected, it’s wildly ineffective. Several more useless attempts later, Baz’s hand is still thoroughly stuck. I look up to see his eyes blazing with barely concealed rage.

“I can’t believe your incompetence, Snow. You’ve truly outdone yourself this time.”

“I know,” I say miserably.

“This is brilliant. Just what I needed,” Baz mutters sarcastically. “Just as I was getting used to having the room to myself. Crowley, Snow, you really are a colossal idiot. What if this is permanent?”

I recoil at the idea. “Ugh—this isn’t permanent! It can’t be! Look, I’m pants at as-you-were, Baz. You try.”

He rolls his eyes. “Give me my wand, Snow.”

I hand it over.

He attempts a simple **as you were** and a **back to square one.** I can’t help but feel slightly vindicated when he is even less successful than I was. But mostly, I feel panicked. What if I really am stuck with my mortal enemy forever? I won’t last the week. He’ll probably wind up strangling me or slitting my throat or draining me dry by day three.

Baz lets out a yell of frustration. “Augh! I can’t cope with this, Snow. You…in my personal bubble…every moment! As if sharing a room wasn’t bad enough!”

“I’m not too chuffed about this either! How are we supposed to even do anything like this? Imagine trying to eat together—or shower—or…anything!” 

Baz swears. “What a disaster.”

“Could be worse!”

“Can’t imagine how. Come on Snow. Think! You got us into this mess! Fix it!”

“Er…We could go to Penny,” I venture. “Penny’s good at fixing my magic. She’ll know what to do.” I force confidence into my tone.

Baz looks at me askance. “Make Bunce fix it. That’s your best idea.”

I shrug helplessly. 

“Okay, Snow, whatever you say. Let’s go find Bunce. I hope she knows what to do, because I am at my wit’s end here.”

Baz drags me violently by the wrist out of Mummer’s House and across the grounds towards Penny’s dorm. We get several strange looks as we barrel past, me stumbling slightly as I try to keep pace with Baz’s longer stride. We finally spot Penny just as she is heading out the door on her way to dinner. 

“Bunce!” Baz calls sharply. 

“Oh hello, Pitch,” says Penny warily. “And—oh, hi Simon! I thought you weren’t meant to be back til later.” 

She looks slightly nonplussed as her gaze darts back and forth between us. Her eyes finally settle on our joined arms. She takes in Baz’s murderous expression, my sheepish grimace, his constricting grip on my wrist. 

“Oh dear, this can’t be good,” she says. “What have you done this time, Simon?”

“Oi! This is not my fault!” I protest. I’m offended that she’s jumped to (accurate) conclusions so quickly.

Baz’s hand tightens painfully around my wrist. 

“Well. Not my fault entirely,” I amend.

“Of course it’s his fault. Snow should never have been trusted with a wand. He’s gone and cast a permanent sticking spell on us!” He gestures our joined arms at Penny emphatically.

“Oh, Merlin. This does not sound promising at all. Simon…how did this even happen?”

“I was trying to fix his stupid sculpture that he left directly in front of the door where anyone would have tripped over it—“

“Anyone with their head screwed on backward!”

“Shut up, Baz. It was in my way!” 

“Not if you’d just looked where you were going!”

“How was I supposed to know to watch out for a mahoosive—thing--in the middle of my bedroom!”

“Quit biting each other’s heads off, the both of you! It’s like talking to toddlers!” Penny complains.

“Well I accidentally broke off a piece of his horrible model thing, so I tried to stick it back on but I couldn’t find any glue, and Baz was about to come back, so I just—“

“Whipped out with the first spell that came into your head like a complete tosser,” Baz butts in.

“Well clearly it would’ve worked, if you hadn’t gone and stuck your hand in the middle of—“

“Why couldn’t you have just waited—“

“The spell would have worked, I’m not—“

“What spell, Simon?” Penny interrupts.

“I used ‘stuck like glue,’ you know, from that Elvis song.”

Penny groans. “Simon, you didn’t! Elvis, really? What have we discussed about using song lyrics with your magic?”

“I thought this one was pretty straightforward, Pen. What could go wrong?”

“This, evidently!” Baz raises my arm forcefully.

“Well, yes, I see that now.”

“You’ve got to really consider the whole song, Simon. All the lyrics,” Penny admonishes.

I quickly run the song over in my head, but all that comes to mind is the chorus. _“Oh yeah, Uh-uh-uh / I'm gonna stick like glue / Stick, because I'm / Stuck on you!”_

“I guess I see where that could be a problem,” I say hesitantly. (I don’t see at all.)

“Bunce, I don’t care what irresponsible spell he used in the first place. Can you just sort us out?”

Penny laughs. “Sort you out, just like that. I don’t know, Pitch. Maybe we should leave you like this. Give you a chance to work out your differences, once and for all. I could use a break from Simon’s moaning about you.”

“Come on, Penny,” I plead, “He’s going to kill me if you leave us like this. He’s evil!”

Baz sneers. “I might be evil, Snow. But I’m not ready for the rest of the world to know it yet.”

I shoot Penny a desperate look. “Can you separate us, Pen?”

She sighs. 

“Please, Bunce.”

“I can try. But Simon’s magic is tricky, you know. No promises.” She grabs Baz’s hand over my wrist. “This may sting a bit,” she warns. 

We brace ourselves.

**“Make it a clean break!”**

I feel a mild prickling sensation. Baz’s fingers loosen slightly from their vice-like grip. I feel hope rise in me like a balloon.

Baz tugs his hand away, but it’s still very firmly attached. 

“Bollocks,” I curse.

Penny casts several more increasingly creative spells with limited results. In the end, she manages to make it just possible for Baz to raise one finger at a time about a centimeter from my arm. This is a tiny improvement from before. Baz’s bruising grip was becoming painful. But he still can’t release his whole hand at once. It’s like my arm is a very strong electro-magnet and his hand is steel that simply can’t muster the force to escape the attraction.

“Sorry, boys,” Penny says. “Looks like you’re just going to have to live like this until we can find a spell to get it sorted.”

Baz’s murderous expression reflects how I feel.

“Maybe you should go see the Mage?” Penny suggests without much hope.

“NO,” Baz and I say at once. I know he hates the Mage at the best of times. As for me, it’s out of the question. The Mage doesn’t need to know how badly I’ve bungled things up. Again. He already thinks I’m a blundering fool and a disappointment. No need to let him down even more. So that’s definitely out.

“Okay then,” says Penny. “We’ll do some research. I’ll write my parents, see if they have any ideas. In the meantime, just…try not to kill each other.”

“No promises,” mutters Baz. I scowl. This is going to be a very long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo....Thoughts???? Should I continue? (who am i kidding of course i'll continue, this thing is demanding to be written now i've started)  
> There will be several amusing scenes coming up in the near future. Involving showers...and beds (like actually sleeping in beds)....and boys who either have to kill or kiss each other...and this is just going to be a total mess! i'm new to writing (again) so i don't know how fast i'll update. So yeah. Comment plz?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, folks! The second chapter, finally! Thanks for everyone's lovely comments and kudos on my first chapter. Means a lot to me. *wipes dramatic tear* Glad to know other people are just as crazy as i am over these two losers. Anyway, enjoy this updaaaate!

#### SIMON

Without speaking, Baz and I follow Penny toward the dining hall. It’s dinner time, and I’m starving. I was meant to eat supper with the Wellbeloves at some fancy restaurant in town. I’d been looking forward to some really nice, posh food. Agatha’s parents said they’d pay. But our outing…well. It didn’t end as planned. I frown, trying not to think about how Agatha and I left things. I’d never seen her this upset before, and I’m still not sure what I’ve done that has her so bothered. I’m sure we’ll sort it out, though. We always have, in the past.

But right now, as far as I’m concerned, this quarrel with Agatha isn’t my most pressing issue. Obviously, Baz’s heavy, cold grip on my wrist is fighting for most of my attention at the minute. But I can’t think about that too hard right now. I’ll go into a full blown panic. Also, I’m hungry. (I’m always hungry.) And food is always a nice distraction.

I’m still mourning the loss of a nice dinner out with the Wellbeloves. But if I’m honest, Watford’s food is probably even nicer, especially their Sunday roast. My mouth is watering at the thought of the soft potatoes and tender meat and the Yorkshire puddings drenched in gravy. Hot food does a lot to make any awful thing seem less horrible.

I start to walk faster toward the dining hall in anticipation. Baz falls a little behind and I tug his arm a bit, urging him to keep up. As we near the doors, Baz abruptly turns instead toward Mummer’s house, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket. We jerk to a halt.

“Oi! Where d’you think you’re going?!” I protest.

“Back to our room. We’re not going in there right now,” Baz says as though this should have been obvious.

“Why the hell not? I’m starved, Baz!”

Penny gets bored of our bickering and walks inside. I stare after her longingly.

“All of Watford is in there now, Snow. We’ll never hear the end of this.” He glances at our hands.

“So what? I’m hungry. They’ll see us soon enough anyway.”

Baz sneers. “Is food the only thing you can ever think of? We’ll get some from the kitchens later. Cook Pritchard loves me. Now come on, Snow.” He moves again in the direction of our room.

“No,” I insist. “I’m hungry now. There’s roast beef in there right this minute. What’s your problem?”

“I’m not going in there like this, practically holding your hand. It’s humiliating,” Baz says.

“You’re not holding my hand, you’re holding my arm.”

“Technicality.”

“What, d’you think they’ll all assume we’re gay or something?”

He looks away, annoyed. “I just want to go back to our room, Snow.”

“But I need food!” My voice is almost a whine.

“Later!”

“Now, Baz! It’ll only take a minute.” I can smell the gravy wafting out the doors.

“You are impossible.”

We glare at each other. It’s clear one of us has to back down. It won’t be me. Why is he being so weird about this? It’s just dinner, for Merlin’s sake. He’s keeping me from basic life-giving necessities. Maybe it’s his version of twisted payback for the mess I got us in.

After a very tense minute in which neither of us budges, Penny pokes her head out the door. “You coming? They’ve got that nice stuffing you like, Simon,” she says.

My stomach growls loudly. I frown at Baz.

“Fine,” he huffs, “But we’re not staying long.”

Victory! I hold back a wide grin as we make our way into the hall.

Dinner is more uncomfortable than I anticipated. It’s a struggle negotiating our motions as we try to get food on our plates. I manage to knock over the gravy boat and my water glass with Baz’s arm as I reach across the table. And we do get several odd stares and a few irritating questions from other students. Baz is quick to answer, “Snow just bolloxed up another spell. You know, the usual.” or simply, “None of your business.” People soon get the message and leave us alone. I shovel in food as quickly as possible.

It’s awkward trying to cut my meat and potatoes with his arm restricting my movement. But even with my struggles, it’s clear that I’m the one who has it easy. With his right hand locked around my wrist, Baz only has one usable hand. He can’t cut his food or eat properly. I don’t think he manages to eat much. He quickly gives up and just sits, knee bouncing impatiently under the table like he’s trying to start an earthquake.

On a regular Sunday, I’d probably stay and eat at least third helpings of everything. But now, Baz shoots me a menacing look as I reach for seconds. I get the message and hastily grab a couple dinner rolls for the road.

We head back up to Mummer’s House without saying much. As soon as we’re back, I sink into my desk chair and heave a great sigh. I catch a whiff of my own clothes and cringe. I still smell like I’ve just rolled around in a horse stable. (This isn’t far from the truth. Yeah, I know. It’s a long story.) I was planning to jump in the shower as soon as I got back from Agatha’s riding competition, but then this whole…sticky situation sort of distracted me. And now a shower is going to be seven shades of awkward with Baz literally attached to my arm. I can only hope he doesn’t notice. Maybe I can put off showering until we get this sorted. But Baz has a wicked sense of smell. 

Baz stands awkwardly above me for a moment. I can see his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, preparing to speak. But then his nose wrinkles in disgust. Predictably.

“Crowley, Snow! What is that stench?”

“Er…me, I think,” I say sheepishly. “I, ah, fell in the dirt at Agatha’s horse race.”

(Actually, she sort of pushed me. I don’t think she meant for me to fall and land in a pile of manure. But she didn’t seem terribly sorry about it after it happened. In her defense, I suppose I was being a bit of an arse. But it’s not my fault that horse tricks just aren’t very interesting. I don’t know why she cares so much about riding. But clearly it means a lot to her, because I’ve never seen her so bent out of shape.)

“Merlin and Morgana, you reek!” Baz complains.

“I did **clean as a whistle** but…I don’t think it worked.”

“Obviously.” Baz flings an elbow over his nose. Drama queen. I don’t smell _that_ awful. (If you like hanging around in barnyards.)

I’m a little out of options here. It’s either sit around smelling like the back end of a horse, or face the weirdest shower of my life with Baz attached to me like a parasite. I scowl. “Right, well, I’ll just pop in the shower then. Care to join me?”

I might be imagining things, but Baz’s cheeks turn a pale shade of pink. “Don’t be daft, Snow. I’m not getting in with you. I’ll just…er, stand outside the curtain.”

“You’re damn right you will," I say. (Why didn’t I think of that? Now I can feel the color rising in my own cheeks.)

#### BASILTON

It’s not as if I’ve never seen Snow naked before. It happened once in our third year, for about half a second. He slammed the door in my face. I couldn’t get the image out of my head for weeks afterwards. (It still came to mind in my weakest moments.) Part of me is having an internal dance party at the thought of Simon showering just inches from me. But most of me knows that this is the very last thing I need right now. It’s pure torture, having Simon this close to me without really being _close._ But he really does smell dreadful. I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable.

We walk together into the en-suite. Simon runs the tap, adjusting the finicky temperature until steam begins to rise in the small room. I hold my breath as he begins to unbutton his shirt, exposing his (unreasonably toned) chest and abs. _Relax, Basilton,_ I tell myself sharply. I’ve seen Simon shirtless loads of times. This is nothing new. If nothing else, I’ll have some great new material for my perverse daydreams. I deserve that much, right? With all Simon is putting me through?

He eases his sleeves down his arms, exposing freckled shoulders and a back covered in moles. My mouth begins to water unbidden. But suddenly, Simon comes to a halt. The problem is immediately clear. His left sleeve stops abruptly where my hand meets his wrist. He can’t get his shirt off completely—the sleeve would just travel up my arm with nowhere to go. I curse. This presents some pretty huge logistical problems. If he can’t get his old, filthy shirt off, there’s no way he’ll be putting on a clean one tomorrow. And there’s no way for me to get my jumper off, either. Wonderful.

Simon swears. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

I sneer. “And whose fault is that?”

We quickly discover that we can’t do much, short of literally cutting the shirt off his body. We fumble around with the sleeve for a good minute, managing to work it up over my grip on his wrist so the sleeve is now mostly on my arm. I hold onto the shirt as Simon fumbles with the button of his trousers. I can feel my weak, traitorous body starting to react as my hand inadvertently brushes against his boxers. I turn my head away, clenching my teeth and willing myself to remain in control.

I catch sight of Simon’s smirk in the mirror over the sink. Of course he finds this all very amusing. Git. “Don’t get all hot and bothered, Baz. I’m keeping my pants on.”

Thank Algernon for that. “Get in the shower, Snow,” I growl. 

He steps in over the edge of the tub. After a bit of maneuvering, we arrange ourselves so that his wrist (and my hand) are the only parts emerging from the clear plastic shower curtain. It’s the first time I’ve wished we’d bothered to hang the proper opaque one my stepmother sent at the start of last year. The school-issued curtain liner had served us fine until just now.

I attempt to avert my eyes as much as possible, but I still catch accidental glimpses. Okay, deliberate glimpses. Simon manages to wash himself with one hand, sliding the bar of generic soap over his slick body. Clean water trickles down his fit torso in quick little streams, soaking his thin boxers in a matter of seconds. They cling tightly to him in the most indecent fashion. I’m trying (and failing) to convince myself that this isn’t the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Simon squeezes the shampoo bottle over his head. He puts his face directly under the shower head, closing his eyes against the stream of water. I take the opportunity to stare unabashedly, licking my lips as shampoo suds slip over the rippling muscles of his neck and shoulders. The rivulets of soapy water divide when they hit the raised moles scattered across his back. My fingers twitch a bit as I imagine myself ghosting one finger across his back, connecting those moles and freckles like constellations. And then repeating the act. With my mouth. Suddenly the steam in the room begins to feel oppressive.

“Hurry up, Snow. Children in Africa are dying of thirst.” I snap. My voice comes out rather higher-pitched than I’d intended.

Simon flips me the bird, but then he reaches down and turns off the tap. “Hand me my towel, will you?”

I thrust it at him roughly. I have to avert my gaze again as he quickly towels off. He wraps the towel around his waist and steps out of the tub. Simon meets my eyes with an impish grin and shakes his dripping curls in my face like a dog.

“OI! Stop that, you nutter!” I shove him harder than I mean to. His bare feet slip on the wet bathroom tile, and he stumbles backward toward the tub. I instinctively yank him up with the hand attached to his wrist. He staggers into me, backing me straight into the opposite wall.

“Anathema,” he says automatically. His face is far too close to mine. I swallow hard. Merlin, if that boy only knew what he does to me.

I raise my free hand and place it on his damp chest, pushing him firmly (but gently) away from me. He glances down at his chest, where my hand has lingered perhaps a bit too long. I snatch it away as though I’ve been burned.

“Get dressed, Snow,” I say harshly.

Simon grabs his shirt up from where it’s dragging on the sodden bathroom floor. He presses it to his nose. “Merlin, it still stinks!”

He’s right. There’s a lingering stench of manure in the air, under the clean hospital scent of Simon’s cheap shampoo. We decide to wash the filthy article in the sink. It still dangles from Simon’s wrist by one sleeve, dripping onto the floor. I cast **dry as a bone** and it instantly dries in a wrinkled, slightly crispy bunch.

Simon shrugs. “Better than I could do,” he says.

Shirt sorted, we head back into the bedroom. There’s still hours left until we usually go to bed, but we decide to change quickly into our pyjama bottoms. I have no choice but to leave my jumper on, unless I want it dangling at my wrist like Simon’s shirt. When that’s done, there’s a long silence. We’re both unsure quite what to do before bed. On a normal Sunday evening, I’d be anywhere but our tower room. I’d be practicing my violin somewhere, or faffing around the football pitch with Dev and Niall, or, more likely, hunting in the catacombs. I cringe internally. 

Lugosi and Carradine, I almost forgot about hunting. My heart sinks to my stomach. I’ve really, really got to find a way to separate myself from Simon before I need blood again. And I can already tell that’s going to be soon. As if there wasn’t already enough motivation to get away from him.

Simon clears his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “So. What do you normally do on a Sunday night, Baz?”

I swallow. “Er…nothing much. What do you do?” I’m a little stunned I’ve never actually thought about how he spends his weekends. He’s usually constantly on my mind.

“Well…Penny and I have a standing Doctor Who date,” he says.

“Crowley, Snow, you’re such a geek! You don’t spend your free time snogging Wellbelove in a corner somewhere, like any normal teenager with a girlfriend?” I don’t know why I’m provoking him.

“No, you pervert!” His expression turns dark.

“Well, d’you want to go down with me and watch Doctor Who with Penny, then?” I offer placatingly.

“No,” says Simon petulantly. “You’d ruin the fun.”

“I would not.”

“You’ve never seen Doctor Who. You’d get bored—and you’d think it was stupid and you’d make snarky comments the whole time.”

I consider this. “True,” I concede.

“See?” Simon huffs. “This is the worst.” I can feel the tendon in his wrist moving as he clenches and unclenches his fist.

“We could sneak into the library, try and do some research on spellbreaking before tomorrow,” I suggest.

Simon shakes his head. “The mage put up some nasty wards around the library a while ago. He caught me trying to research the white hares in the middle of the night once too often.”

“You manage to make everything at least six times more difficult.”

We toss around a couple more ideas, and eventually settle on just studying separately until bedtime. We arrange our desk chairs so they sit closer together than usual, accommodating our joined arms in the middle without too much stretching. The time passes quicker than I’d guessed, and soon, Simon begins yawning hugely.

“So,” he says through a yawn, “Whose bed do we sleep in tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahaha. and there we’ll leave them for this chapter. (Sorry not sorry!) I'll be back with an update asap!
> 
> This took longer to write than I anticipated. Turns out it's really hard to stick to an in-universe Canon that really doesn't even exist. Also it was way too easy to get bogged down in searching for colorful name-curses for the boys to use. In conclusion, Rainbow Rowell is a genius and I can only hope to come near to standing in her shadow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m BAAAACK, DID YOU MISS ME?  
> Anyway, this is a very Bazzy chapter, full of self-deprecating dark thoughts and ridiculous pining after certain roommates he knows he can’t have. Poor bby. Hope you enjoy reading this at his expense.

#### TYRANNUSAURUS GRIMM-PITCH

“I’m not sharing a bed with you,” I say flatly.

The number of times I must have fantasized about sharing a bed with Simon Snow…well, it’s embarrassing, really. But I never imagined it would be quite under these circumstances. And I certainly never thought it would be his idea. He hates me, for Crowley’s sake. _“Whose bed,”_ is he being serious? Imagine what a disaster that would be. His solid heat mere inches from me in the narrow bed, his heady scent filling my nostrils, him inevitably unconsciously moving closer in the night, pressing up against my body. Great snakes, I can feel myself beginning to react just thinking about it. 

Simon scowls, blissfully unaware of the dangerous direction my thoughts have taken. “Well what do you suggest, then?

I gesture grandly at the cold stone floor beside my bed.

He frowns. “I’m not kipping on the floor, that’s just cruel!”

“Grab a cushion, then. I’m not giving up my bed.”

He glares. His entire face gets into the expression, eyebrows lowering, lips narrowing, forehead wrinkling, blue eyes darkening dramatically. It’s a look he reserves especially for me. (I pretend I’m not weirdly thrilled whenever he makes that face.)

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“And why should that mean I get the floor? You didn’t have to interfere with my magic. It’s as much your fault as mine."

I shoot him a disbelieving look.

"Okay maybe not. But we really could both fit in one of the beds. I don’t take up much space.”

I raise one eyebrow at him. I happen to know that he’s a chaotic sleeper, changing positions at least once an hour throughout the night. He usually ends up sprawled like a starfish with his covers twisted around his legs by morning.

“Not a chance, Snow. You sleep on the floor, end of story.”

“Absolutely not!”

We’re at an impasse, once again. I wish I could just rip my hand away from him and be done with this mess. He’s too close, all the time, breathing my air, taking up far too much of the room with his overwhelming _existence_ and his crackling, smoky magic always hovering right at his edges. It’s like standing too close to a bonfire. And the worst part of this stupid sticking spell is I can’t escape the burning when it all gets to be too much. It’s bad enough when he’s in his own bed, safely across the room from me. But tonight is going to be a special kind of torture.

Simon looks at the space between our two beds. “We could flip a coin,” he suggests.

I grin wickedly. “Best idea you’ve had all day.” I retrieve a coin from my desk drawer. “Heads I get the bed, tails you get the floor.” 

I flip the coin high in the air before he gets a chance to work out exactly what I’ve said. I slap it on the back of my clenched hand. “Heads, I get the bed. Grab a cushion, Snow.”

“Hey! Not fair,” Simon complains.

“It’s perfectly fair. You just walked right into that one. Even Mordelia knows that trick.”

“You’re awful.”

“I know.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Fine. Help me get the mattress off my bed. We’re putting that on the floor.”

I look dubiously at the space between our beds. Our room is bigger than most at Watford, but it’s not huge by any means. With his mattress on the floor, we’ll have maybe two feet of floor space. But it would be cruel to make him sleep on the hard stone. “Fine. I don’t see another solution,” I admit.

Like everything we do now, our task is made infinitely more difficult by the fact that we only have three usable hands between us. Clumsily, we manage to heave Simon’s mattress off his bed. As it topples haphazardly onto the floor, I hear a crinkle of plastic wrappers. It’s Simon’s secret hoard of sweets, tucked back so far under the mattress that I hadn’t found it last time I’d done a cursory search. (I raid his stash often.) (Mostly because it makes him furious.) (But also I just really love chocolate.)

Simon’s face lights up. “Mint Aeros! I forgot I hid them under here weeks ago!”

Like lightning, I lean over and snatch the three candy bars from the bed before he gets a chance.

“Oi!” He protests.

I’ve already unwrapped a bar and taken a huge bite. “You snooze, you lose!” I say thickly, chocolate coating my teeth.

He lunges at me, reaching for the other two chocolate bars. I hold them high above his head, using my extra two inches of height to my full advantage. Simon’s eyes flash threateningly. He tries to jump for it, but I yank his wrist down with my attached hand. The momentum makes us stumble. I laugh, holding the sweets out of reach.

“Baz—Give me—my chocolate!” He claws at my arm.

“Anathema!” I warn, sneering.

He tackles me to the ground.

My breath leaves me in a whoosh as I land hard—directly onto Simon’s mattress. Suddenly, I find myself pinned under Simon’s considerable weight. I’m too stunned to move. My heart stutters in my chest as he pins my arms to the mattress. Merlin, I'm glad he can't read minds. Years of lustful fantasies are rising to the forefront of my brain as Simon shifts his weight on top of me, lunging for the chocolate bars. He snatches them from my grasp, which has gone unexpectedly weak.

“Ha! I win,” he crows. He sits upright, waving the sweets triumphantly. I hold my breath. He's practically straddling my hips. _Oh, Simon._

Before the situation can become too incriminating, I roll over, flipping him under me in one swift motion. I grab the chocolate away from him again. 

“Mine,” Simon growls. He lunges for my hand, but I hold the candy away. (He’s too sexy for his own good.)

We quickly descend into a violent wrestling match. We're concious of the Anathema, but as long as neither of us is actually hurt, I don't think it detects this sort of roughhousing. We are teenage boys, after all. 

Ordinarily, my superior vampire strength would be enough to overpower Simon in under a minute. But right now, the stress and adrenaline is getting to me in weird ways. This situation is really just too ridiculous. Soon, I'm laughing a bit hysterically as Simon wrenches the candy out of my hand. I surrender it to him, clutching my stomach as I'm overtaken by a fit of uncontrollable, slightly insane-sounding giggles. Simon looks at me oddly. 

“Sorry,” I gasp. “Just— look at us! Of all people to get stuck like this—it had to be—the two—the two worst enemies in the school!” An involuntary snort escapes me and I descend once more into peals of laughter. 

“We are just about the worst people for this to happen to,” Simon agrees. Apparently, my hysteria is catching, because a slightly unhinged laugh bubbles up from him before he can stop it.

We collapse side by side on the mattress. Just as one of us starts to calm, the other lets out another burst of giggles, sending us both into hysterics. In a brief quiet moment, Simon raises our joined hands and lets them thump heavily into the mattress. Somehow we both find this hilarious. We are caught in gale after gale of helpless laughter.

Gradually, we begin to run out of steam. The laughter has been a much needed escape valve for the extreme tension of our circumstances. For a moment, we lay silently beside each other, slowly catching our breath. Simon unwraps the candy bars, still clenched in his fist. By now, the aerated chocolate is slightly crushed and a little melty inside its wrapper. He eats it anyway. But as we quiet down, the gravity of the situation begins to creep back into the room.

Snow breaks the silence. “What are we going to do, Baz? I think we literally might kill each other if we’re stuck together much longer.”

“And be forced to drag a corpse around by the wrist for the rest of forever? No thanks,” I say dryly.

He gives a small snort of laughter. My heart soars a tiny bit, but then his face collapses back into seriousness. “But for real, though. We can’t live like this. I know you’re always plotting to kill me just on ordinary days. But this…this just makes it a million times worse.”

“I’m not plotting to kill you, Snow. Possibly maim or torture you. Definitely make your life miserable. But not outright murder. At least not…while we’re still roommates.” 

Snow nods, like he’s known this all along.

I’ve thought about killing him, in the future. After we’re done at Watford. Fiona wants me to, I know. She says we don’t need a Chosen One, that getting rid of Simon would really give us an advantage over the Mage. Magickal Politics aside, though, I actually do want to kill him, sometimes. Frighteningly often, actually. It would be too easy. (My tongue glosses over my fangs inside my mouth.) I’d kiss him, just once, just to know what it felt like. And then I’d drain him dry, like the monster I am.

Or maybe I just want Snow to kill me. (Even if I’m technically already dead.) Just let him get it over with, end my sad existence already. It should have been over long ago, that day in the Nursery. Even my mom would have wanted it that way. She would have despised…what I am today.

“People expect it, you know,” Snow says, dragging me out of my darkening thoughts.

“That I’ll kill you?”

“That one of us will kill the other. In the end. ‘ _And one will come to end him, and one will bring his fall._ ’ Don’t you think that sounds like…you’re destined to end me, or something? Unless I turn things around and end you first?”

Of course, I forgot. The world revolves around Simon Snow and his misunderstood teenage protagonism. The bloody hero. I scoff.

“You really are full of yourself, Snow. Just assuming that the Great Prophecy means you and me. Maybe you’re not the Chosen One, ever consider that? Surely the Universe would choose a magician who could actually use his words," I say bitingly.

Simon’s face tightens angrily. “The Mage thinks it’s me.”

“Oh, yes, the all-knowing Mage. May we never cast doubt on a word he says, for he is Supreme.” I roll my eyes.

“Shut up. It’s not just him. Penny thinks it’s me, too. And her parents.”

“Oh well, if Bunce says so, it must be true. You must be the Chosen One. Destined to rid the world of all evil. Fated to be the one to kill me.”

“The Mage has basically told me as much. He says the Pitches are going to destroy the World of Mages. So we need to—I need to—end the family line. With you.” (The family line ends with me, regardless. But how could Snow know that?)

“Maybe he’s right,” Simon continues. “The Pitches and the Old families have always hated what the Mage is trying to do to our world. And it doesn’t help your case that you’re a…” He cuts himself off abruptly.

“I’m a what, Snow?” I glare at him venomously. 

“You’re a v-very evil git,” he says, shrinking under my menacing look. I can tell he almost said Vampire, but then he saw my expression. Maybe he thinks I'll lose control and suck him dry if I know he knows. (That is a terrifyingly real possibility.) 

“And don’t you forget it, Snow,” I sneer.

“Well, all that aside,” says Simon quickly, “I’m not about to try and kill you… Not while we’re…” he lifts his arm an inch off the mattress and scowls.

“Right. Well. That’s settled then. No impending homicides for the time being. What a relief.” It’s a tenuous cease-fire, and I can still feel the tension between us pulsing in the room. It may actually be a struggle not to strangle him in his sleep tonight. 

I sit up abruptly. “Time for bed.”

“Yes. Good. Bed,” Simon agrees. We don’t say another word.

We stand up and finish arranging his mattress so it sits on the floor right beside my bed. We get ready for bed silently, communicating only with the occasional shove or tug on the arm as we compete for space at the bathroom sink. It’s bloody inconvenient, this spell. We’re constantly tripping each other or trying to move in opposite directions. I can’t wait til this whole mess is over. Wordlessly, we arrange ourselves on our respective beds. My arm is dangling off the side of mine, and below me, Snow’s arm is propped on a pillow at a more comfortable level. We both toss and turn a bit, trying to find a position that’s not terribly uncomfortable. I can already tell this is going to be an excruciating night.

Soon, Snow fills the room with his familiar snuffling snores. I’ve always envied his ability to fall asleep instantly, no matter the circumstances. Growing up in care must do that to a person. Merlin, Simon must have had a miserable childhood. I’d learned a bit about it over the years, and it’s all terribly tragic. I don’t think he’s even kept count of the foster homes he’s been in. He must have had to sleep through all sorts of crazy stuff. 

I, on the other hand, usually take hours to doze off on a good night. Right now, I’m wide awake, swirling thoughts refusing to shut up. I can feel Simon’s hot pulse under my thumb, steadily beating in his wrist. Crowley, he’s so alive. So warm, so spirited, just bursting with life. In the moonlight, my cold, pale hand looks almost blue against his golden freckled skin. 

Simon shifts in his sleep, pulling his arm closer to his body. I’m dragged right to the edge of my mattress, closer to his intoxicating warmth and heady scent. This is so dangerous. I don’t try to pull away. He lets out an incoherent mumble and turns his head so he’s facing me. Aleister, he’s gorgeous when he sleeps. I’ve stared at him plenty of times in the night. But never this close up. It takes my breath away. I can count the moles on his face. I’ve done it before. But now I can see more of them—smaller and fainter, two at his temple, three on his chin, one right at the corner of his mouth. He puffs out a heavy breath, lips parting slightly to reveal white, even teeth. _(Crowley, Basilton, stop thinking about his lips.)_ I could lean down and kiss him, just there, on the faint mole to the left of his mouth. He wouldn’t wake. He’d never even know it happened. I move closer, drawn to him like a magnet. (This is a very, very bad idea.) His face is inches away. 

Simon grunts loudly, raising himself up off the pillow in his sleep. I nearly have a heart attack. He shifts the pillow under his head, mumbling incoherently. As he lays back down, the silver cross around his neck dangles closer and brushes against the back of my hand. I flinch back from the sharp burning. Crowley, what was I thinking? I can’t let myself be tempted like this again. Nothing can ever happen between us. Even if Snow wasn’t completely straight…even if he didn’t loathe the very ground I walk on…he doesn’t deserve a monster like me. I turn my head miserably toward the wall and attempt to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your lovely reviews and kudos on my last chapter, folks! It really motivates me to keep writing. I promise this story will get finished, in spite of creeping midterms in my last semester at University. It’s a great outlet, writing about these magical idiots that don’t belong to me. Anyway, I live for your comments. What are your thoughts on this chapter? What scenes do you need to happen while our boys are still conjoined???


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this story has taken over my life. It's ridiculous, haha. I've now got a solid outline down--you'll notice I changed the Chapter count to reflect this extensive planning. There will be a total of 8, possibly 9 chapters. And on that note, I present to you, CHAAAAPTER FOUR, which is narrated by our beloved Chosen One.

#### SIMON SOUR CHERRY SCONE SALISBURY

It’s Monday morning, and Baz is in a sinister mood. We both woke up at the arsecrack of dawn because it was so damn uncomfortable sleeping while stuck together. It took me a good five minutes to shake the pins and needles from my hand, which went dead sometime in the night from its odd propped position and Baz’s tight grip. 

When I complained, he just snapped, "Shut up and quit being a child about it. This is all your fault anyway so quit whinging."

The arrogant prick. 

It’s hell trying to get ready simultaneously. I think Baz almost rips my arm out of its socket like five times as we’re getting dressed. He’s been yanking me around all morning and I’ve had it up to here with his foul mood. It’ll be a miracle if we can get through the day like this.

It’s a good thing he can’t push me down the stairs while we’re still attached. I know he’s just itching to do something like that, and it just kills him that he can't do anything drastic. But even though he can't physically hurt me too badly, he’s making up for it by being downright insufferable. I can just tell he’s plotting some form of sick revenge.

Baz insists we go down to the Infirmary first thing, even before breakfast. I try to tell him it’s pointless, that even after seven years at Watford the Infirmary staff has no idea how to sort out my magic. But he’s bloody obstinate, so we go down anyway. I drag my feet the whole way. 

As I suspected, Nurse Walsh turns us away almost immediately, after attempting a halfhearted **as you were** and the infirmary standard, **get well soon.**

“I'm sorry, boys. I'm afraid this is beyond my abilities. But not to worry. Mr. Snow’s magic almost always wears off on its own within the month," she says reassuringly. 

(I am not at all reassured.)

She also sends us with an excuse note explaining our situation to our professors. Turns out we’re still expected to go to class in our condition—I was hoping we’d get out of that, at least. But clearly they don’t see a problem with it, especially as Baz and I have the same class load this term. 

Our first lesson of the day is Greek with the Minotaur, and we’re nearly late. We took so long at the infirmary that we missed most of breakfast, so all I’d managed to grab was a heel of toast and a couple of shriveled kippers. Baz got nothing but a large coffee, to which he added like five sugars. Disgusting. 

During Greek, I attempt to turn all my focus to Professor Minos. We’re conjugating verbs, again. Baz isn’t even bothering to take notes. I can feel him fidgeting in his seat beside me. It’s bloody distracting. It’s so weird, having him so close to me. He usually sits on the other side of the classroom with Niall, and Penelope sits up front with me. For obvious reasons, they’ve had to switch places, and Penny keeps shooting amused stare at us from across the room. 

I scowl at her.

There’s nothing funny about this situation.

Having Baz constantly attached to me…it’s literally the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Including last year’s Chimera attack. I can deal with Chimeras and dragons and werewolves. Even the Humdrum, so far. Problems like that are just temporary. I just whip out my sword or blast them with a dose of Magic and that’s it, problem solved. But this…it’s like having a poison ivy rash or an STD that just won’t go away.

It seems like Baz is going out of his way to get on my last nerve. He feels the need to make snippy little comments about everything I do—my posture, my handwriting as I take notes in class, the way I apparently squint stupidly when I read. By lunchtime, after we’ve sat through three lessons, I’m absolutely fuming. I’m having a hard time suppressing my magic, crackling violently just under the surface. 

Baz has noticed. He confronts me about it on the Great Lawn on the way to our room after tea.

“Can’t you get yourself under control? Your magic is driving me mad!”

“I am in control,” I growl.

“It’s like sitting next to an electric fence. I feel like you’re going to burn my eyebrows off.”

I clench my fist and take a deep breath. I feel my magic surge dangerously.

“I hate this just as much as you do. Probably more,” I say.

“Not possible.” Baz’s shoulders are tense, his expression foul. He’s just oozing nervous energy.

“How d’you think I feel, with you jerking me around by the arm all the time?” I say. “It’s like you’re about to drag me down to the catacombs and—“

Out of nowhere, Baz punches me in the jaw.

I reel back, stunned. He hasn’t tried something like that since pushing me down the stairs in third year. I guess this is really getting to him. Hell, it’s getting to me too. 

I swing a powerful punch right back at him, but he’s expecting it and blocks me. So I aim a vicious kick at his shin. I’m having flashbacks of second year, where public fights between us were a regular occurrence. It almost make me laugh. I duck as Baz flings another punch at my head. A crowd begins to gather on the Great Lawn as our fight escalates. I’m sure we look ridiculous, throwing one-handed punches and yanking each other off balance by the arm. 

By the time a teacher strides up to break up the fight, my nose is bleeding and Baz is wrenching my arm behind my back. Crowley, he’s strong. Ruthless. Powerful. And he does it all without breaking a sweat. I hate him so much it's frightening.

The teachers don’t know what to do about us. They can’t separate us, for obvious reasons. In the end, we’re given a stern talking to, detention, and a warning that another fight would get us both expelled. We storm back up to Mummer’s house in silence. I’m holding a rag over my nose, which is still bleeding profusely. 

When we get to our room, Baz practically shoves me into my desk chair. “Lean forward and pinch your nose,” he says quietly.

I look at him narrowly. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Just…trust me. I used to get nosebleeds a lot as a kid. Tip your head forward, Snow.”

I do, making sure to still keep my eyes on Baz. I have a hard time imagining him getting a nosebleed. I don’t think he has enough blood in him, he’s so pale. But he must have, once. As a kid, before he got turned. Well before I ever knew him. The idea shakes me a bit. I’ve never really considered that Baz wasn’t always a vampire. It’s just who he is. (At least, I assume. He’s never admitted it.) But of course vampires aren’t born, they’re made. It makes me a little sick, thinking of how it must have been for Baz when he was turned. He was just a little kid, for snakes’ sake. What kind of monster would bite a child?

After a bit, the bleeding in my nose subsides and I sit upright. There’s blood all over my face. I try to wipe it off with my rag.

Baz steps closer to me. Without warning, he grabs my chin and tilts my head up. 

I swat his hand away, startled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking to see if your nose is broken.”

“What are you, a nurse?”

“Dev’s nose got broken in football once. It swelled like a balloon. I know what a broken nose looks like.”

“Oh,” I say. “Go on then.”

**“Hold still.” 

He takes hold of my face again, gripping me right where he’d punched me in the jaw. 

I let out a dramatic roar of pain. “That hurts!”

“If you just _held still,_ it wouldn’t hurt as much!”

“If you hadn’t socked me in the face, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“If you hadn’t stuck us together in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to!”

I pause. He’s right. The bastard. “Well, you shouldn’t have left your sculpture in my way,” I retort rather lamely.

“Well you should learn to control your magic!” Baz erupts. **

I slump, defeated. 

Baz sighs. He reaches into his football bag for an icepack. Spelling it cold, he hands it to me. “Hold this to your face. I don’t think your nose is broken, just bruised.”

I take the icepack from him warily. He’s being weirdly…nice. It makes me nervous. “Thanks,” I mutter.

After a minute, Baz speaks up again. “Truce?”

I hesitate. “Why would I make a truce with you?”

“Just…it might be nice to stop working against each other constantly. It’s driving me insane, being stuck to you. I just thought…an official truce might help.”

I nod slowly. “Just until we get this sorted.”

“Yeah. No more fighting, no more getting in each other’s way. We’ve got to start communicating, work together a bit. No more aggression.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“No more _acts_ of aggression,” he amends.

It’s a good idea, I have to admit. But I have a hard time trusting that Baz will keep his end of the truce. “Swear it with magic,” I suggest.

Baz rolls his eyes, but pulls out his wand anyway. “ **An Englishman’s word is his bond!** ”

I feel a sharp heat as his magic swirls around our joined hands. It’s intense, but not completely unpleasant. It’s like pressing a hot spoon to the back of my hand. “Good,” I say, “glad we’ve settled that.”

“Your face is a mess, Snow.”

I can feel the dried blood starting to cake on my upper lip. My shirt is also spattered with blood, which is a real pain, as we’ve already discovered we can’t actually change our shirts while attached by the arms. I cast **out, out, damn spot** and the blood disappears from my clothes and face. My shirt’s still a wrinkled mess from when we washed it last night, though. We’re going to have to come up with some kind of solution for that. Can’t keep wearing the same shirt for weeks. (Merlin, I hope it’s not weeks. Truce or not, we really, really can’t live like this for much longer.)

Baz and I stay in our room for the rest of the hour before afternoon classes start. He seems to have no interest in talking, despite my attempts to start a conversation. Of course, just because we’re on a truce, I guess it doesn’t mean we have to be friends or anything. But if I’m going to be spending all my time with Baz, I’d rather not be bored out of my mind on top of everything.

We get through the rest of the afternoon mostly by ignoring each other as much as possible. We don’t really talk except to negotiate which way we’re going next. But it’s pretty much impossible not to be aware of him at all times. We’re practically breathing the same air. 

As the day progresses, Baz grows even more withdrawn and irritable. He’s extremely pale, and I think his grip on my wrist is growing colder. It worries me.

“Are you okay?” I ask after Magic Words class. He’d stopped paying attention halfway through the lesson and laid his head down on the desk, looking slightly woozy.

“Fine, Snow. Mind your own business.”  
He refuses to even look in my direction, and I get the feeling that he’s in actual pain. He keeps rubbing his stomach and running his tongue along his teeth nervously. Crowley, how long has it been since he…well, drank anything? Besides sugary coffee, I mean?

“You don’t look like you’re okay,” I press.

Baz huffs out a long breath through his nose.

“Stop pestering. I told you, I’m fine.”

“You’re pale as a ghost. When’s the last time you…ah, ate anything?”

“At lunch. You were there, Snow. Eating everything in your path like a wild animal. It was disgusting. Your table manners are atrocious.”

“Don’t change the subject,” I say. “You didn’t eat enough to feed a small child.”

“And why should that concern you, you nosy wanker? You’re not my mother.”

I don’t know why it concerns me so much. Baz’s eating habits shouldn’t be any of my business. But it is worrying, how pale he’s gotten recently. Maybe I’m so concerned because my life is potentially in danger. Who knows how long a vampire can go without drinking blood? I know Baz went down to the catacombs every night in our fifth year. He was hunting rats, I know it. I found a pile of drained carcasses near the entrance one night. He’s got to be thirsty by now, for sure. But don’t vampires need food, too? 

“I just think…you’re in a terrible mood, Baz. Food might cheer you up a bit.”

“Not everyone is as obsessed with food as you.”

“But everyone needs to eat,” I say.

“Believe it or not, I’m not terribly hungry.”

I run through a list in my head. (Is it weird that I have a list of all the food Baz has consumed in the past day? I don’t know why. I just do.) I know for a fact he ate like three bites at dinner last night, plus my Mint Aero bar. Add that to the three disgusting coffees and a tiny half sandwich he had today at teatime, and it’s barely enough to constitute a single meal. But come to think of it, I’ve hardly ever seen Baz eat. I know he does, on occasion. I’ve seen the salt and vinegar crisp crumbs on the floor in our room. But he is awfully skinny. I saw how far his hipbones jutted when we were dressing this morning.

“You seriously don’t look well,” I persist. 

“Oh, piss off.”

I know he doesn’t want to confess that he needs blood. That would mean actually admitting to me that he’s a vampire. There’s no going back from that. But I’m done with this stupid game. It’s time for him to suck it up (so to speak) and just finally admit what he is. 

“Come on, Baz. Just say it,” I goad.

“I’ve got to—Crowley Snow, I’ve got to hunt!” he bursts out.

 _Finally!_ “I knew it,” I say triumphantly.

Baz lowers his eyebrows. “Congratulations, Snow. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes. You’ve lived with a vampire for seven years, and you’ve only just now found him out.”

“Please. I’ve known since fifth year. Can I see your fangs?”

“No!”

“Come on, just one peek?” I lean in towards his mouth, trying to peer inside.

“You’re the most aggravating—“

I reach out suddenly and put my thumb on his upper lip, stretching it up to see his gums. Baz jerks his head back. I glimpse a tiny hole where his fangs must pop out before he slaps my hand away. 

“Oh go on, Basil. Just let me see them!” I wheedle.

Baz flashes me a feral grimace, fangs suddenly descending. It changes his whole face—makes his lip fuller, fills out his cheeks a bit.

“Cool,” I whisper.

“You’re disturbed, Snow. You should be terrified right now.” His words are slightly garbled, like he’s wearing a retainer. 

I can’t help but laugh a little. “Your fangs look awesome. How come I’ve never seen them before?”

“It’s not something I advertise, is it?” Baz is exasperated. “The Coven would have me beheaded, pronto, no questions asked.”

“Right. Good job they’ve never suspected you.”

“Yeah,” Baz says, “Good job.” His fangs have retracted back into his gums. (Can he control that? Wicked.)

“So, this means you have to drink blood like, every night, right?”

“More or less.”

“Wicked. Let’s go hunting tonight, then. Where do you usually go? The nearest village? Or, y’know, farther afield so no one gets suspicious? Maybe the old folks home? No one would miss a pensioner or two.” I can’t resist winding him up a bit. I know he just hunts small rodents down in the Catacombs, and sometimes in the Wavering Wood.

He stares at me in horror. “Snow! You think I hunt humans? What the hell do you think I am, some sort of barbarian?” 

“Well, aren’t you?” I say innocently. “I thought all vampires drank hu—“

He cuts me off sharply. “I drink rats, mostly. The occasional squirrel, a deer if I can find one.”

I smirk. “I know. I followed you all of fifth year, remember?”

Baz scowls, apparently reliving terrible memories. “Couldn’t get you off my tail for the life of me. Bloody annoying little blighter, you were.”

(Yeah, I definitely was.)

“So what’s it going to be tonight,” I say, “the Wood or the Catacombs?”

“The catacombs, I think. After dinner.”

“Wonderful. It’s a date,” I say brightly.

“You have the weirdest idea of what a date is, Snow.”

I grin widely. I get to watch an actual vampire in action. (That shouldn't be so exciting.) (I don't care. It sounds cool.) This is going to be fun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha. We all know that poor Basilton must be dying inside. Stay tuned for the Great Hunt and more!
> 
> Also, **Side Note. I basically stole the script of the starred scene from this clip of Beauty and the Beast. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kH_vcb2fQ2c The ironic role reversal cracks me up--Baz as Belle and Simon as the Beast. Go watch it, it's hilarious. (then come back and leave a comment!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Lovelies! I'm back! It's taken forever to update--isn't it annoying when real life gets in the way of fanfiction of fictional fiction???? Anyway, here is a semi short chapter that I decided to post before I lost momentum. I had such a hard time deciding the direction to take this hunting scene, but here it is! Enjoy lots of Bazzish drama and angst and some requisite toothachingly adorable Snowbaz moments.

#### BAZ

Snow breathes louder than anyone else I know. It’s like he’s trying to be as obnoxious as possible. Dinner is over and we’ve been in the catacombs for half an hour. If I were alone, I’d have caught and drained at least three rats by now. I’m practically shaking. A combination of exhaustion, cold, hunger, being close to Simon all day, and thirst. Stoker and Shelley, the thirst. My head is throbbing. I press my fingers into my temple. My fangs are out, gleaming in the torchlight, filling my mouth without my consent. I’ve given up trying to retract them. What would be the point?

My patience with Snow has never been so thin. He’s scaring all the rats away just by existing. Not that I could sniff any out, anyway, with the scent of Snow’s intoxicating human blood coating the inside of my nose. The rats have never been safer.

Simon stumbles on a loose bit of rock, sending it skittering into a corner. I explode.

“Crowley, Snow! Could you make any more noise? I don’t think the rats in the next village heard you.”

“I thought I was being quiet!”

“Well you’re not. You’ve scared away every rat within a five mile radius.”

“I’m not saying anything!”

“You’re breathing like a horse. And stomping.”

“I don’t stomp!”

“Yes you do. Oaf.”

“Well I’m sorry for existing. Shall I evaporate?”

“Please.”

I could end it all right now. End him. His pulse is pounding hard, fast, strong in his wrist. Beating steadily under my thumb, just under the surface of his freckled skin. I can hear it. Smell it. His scent is drowning out everything I’m trying to think.

Snow rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have rat traps or something? Seems like that would be easier.”

“Not since first year. The rats got too smart for that.”

“So you just…catch them with your bare hands?”

“Yes. They’re not terribly fast. It’s not that hard. When I have two hands.” I squeeze his wrist in a death grip for emphasis. 

Snow grimaces. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I thought we were on a truce.”

I glare at him. 

“Don’t you know any hunting spells?” Simon asks, exasperated.

“None for rats. Just banishing spells. No one wants to call vermin directly to them.”

“Well that’s just inconvenient.”

“No one invents spells for the convenience of vampires. I’m pretty much on my own here.”

“Let’s go out to the Wood,” Simon suggests. “Surely there are spells for creatures out there.”

There are. I know a couple for birds, and one for deer. But they’re enormously draining and I’ve only ever gotten them to work at close range. But I need to get out of here desperately. I definitely overestimated my tolerance for being in narrow, airless corridors with Simon Snow. I know if we stay down here much longer, Simon is done for. 

It would be too easy. I can’t stop picturing myself losing all control. Pouncing. Pinning him to the wall. Tilting his head back and pressing my lips to his jugular. Sinking my teeth into his pulse point. Hot liquid blooming into my mouth, sliding easily down my aching throat. Simon’s eyes would widen, and then he’d go weak under me, eyes rolling back in his head, tawny golden face going corpse white as I drained the life out of him. He’d collapse in my arms, pale and limp and ice cold. I’d suck the last drops from his neck and hug him to my chest. Finally right where I want him. And then I would set myself on fire. Burn myself at the stake, tied to the bloodless corpse of Simon Snow.

Too easy.

“Fine. We’ll go to the Wood.” My voice is hoarse, parched. “Keep up, Snow.” 

We set off at a sprint, taking the catacomb passageways at ridiculous speed. Simon isn’t a bad runner, I’ll give him that. He’s hardly even breaking a sweat. But his pulse is pounding faster in his wrist, growing hotter under my thumb. Crowley, I really might bite him if we don’t get out there soon.

As soon as we reach the top of the staircase and burst into the relatively fresh air of the White Chapel, Simon’s scent dissipates around us. I take in a gulp of open air, relieved when I can smell incense and wood floors on top of Simon’s blood. We slow down instinctively. Can’t easily shake years of teachers telling us not to run inside the chapel. The sun is low in the sky, streaming into the stained glass windows and igniting the room with dusty rainbow shafts of light. A beam of sunlight catches in Simon’s hair, making him glow from behind like he has a halo. Merlin, he’s too perfect. I swallow painfully. He shifts, and the sunlight blazes directly into my eyes.

“The Mage raises the drawbridge at dusk. We have to hurry,” I say.

“We’ll make it back,” says Simon. He shoves the chapel doors open with his shoulder, and we take off running again.

When we get sufficiently deep into the Wavering Wood that no one at Watford could possibly see what I’m doing, I stop abruptly. Simon stumbles as his arm is yanked back. He stands still, hands on his knees, and pants for a minute.

“Quiet, Snow.”

He holds up one finger at me. _Wait._ In just a few moments, his breathing slows and he raises his head, grinning up at me stupidly. 

“So do I get to watch you hunt now?” His voice is eager, like a kid anticipating presents.

“You’re disturbed, Snow. It’s really not that exciting.” I sneer at him. I can feel my fangs popping out, rather ruining the effect. He’s staring at my mouth, eyes wide, lips parted. Clearly mesmerized. 

“Oh, shut your mouth, Snow. You’ll catch flies.”

He grins at me again. Idiot. “So do you know any good hunting spells?”

I sigh and take my wand from my cloak pocket. I point it at the trees halfheartedly. **”Doe, a deer,”** I cast, hoping the already scarce deer haven’t been scared off by Simon’s loud footsteps.

Simon pulls out his wand, too, and shouts the same spell before I can stop him. I wince, knowing he’s never cast it before. New spells and Simon Snow shouldn’t mix.

Simon catches my expression and rolls his eyes. “It’s worth a try,” he says. “What could go wrong?”

I curl my lip at him, but decide to let it go. I turn again and point my wand lower. I cast **fox in the hole** and **Come out, come out, wherever you are.** I point my wand at the sky and cast a couple bird calls. 

“Isn’t that a little overboard?” Simon asks.

“Doesn’t hurt to cast the net wide,” I say. “Never know what’s nearby.”

Simon shrugs and casts the same spells into the air around us.

“Now what?” he says when he’s finished.

“Now we wait.” I walk over to the largest tree in the area and sit, my back leaning against the rough bark. Simon sits beside me after a moment.

I glance up, noticing the sun sinking dangerously low, past the tree line. I hope this doesn’t take long. I’ll be forced to drink one of Ebb’s goats, or worse, a merwolf. I close my eyes and lean my head against the tree. Usually, if there are any animals near, my spells take about fifteen minutes to take effect.

No more than twenty seconds later, I hear a rustle in the bushes to my left. My eyes snap open. It’s a fox, staring at me from between the leaves. A slow smile spreads across my face. That was fast. I move to stand, movements slow and careful, trying not to spook the animal.

“Baz,” Simon whispers. He’s staring at the boulder to our right, pointing at a stag that’s just stepping out from behind it.

Just then, we hear a flutter in the leaves above us. A family of crows has landed in the branches of the nearby oak tree. And on the ground, a line of quail are bobbing across the clearing, calm as anything.

Merlin and Morgana, Simon’s magic is powerful.

“Are you a Disney princess, Snow?” I say in an undertone. “I’ve never seen this many woodland creatures at once.” As if to prove my point, three fat rabbits hop out from behind a tree.

“It’s an all you can eat buffet!” Simon whispers, chuckling.

I laugh. It is, isn’t it? Best meal I’ve had in months.

I cast a mild **stand your ground** so the animals won’t scatter when I go to catch them. I stand, but hesitate. It’s weird, having Simon here. Watching me. Knowing what I am.

“What are you waiting for?” he says. “Take your pick.”

I nod, looking around at the assortment of animals. “Promise me you won’t pass out when I snap the bunnies’ necks.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I’m not a vegetarian. I know how this works.”

I shake my head once, trying to forget the weirdness of the situation. Might as well take advantage of these animals while they’re here. Even if Simon is here too.

“Just try to stay out of my way, Snow.” 

He nods. “Get on with it.”

It’s a bit awkward, catching and killing creatures one-handed. I can only go for the smaller ones. Easier to snap their necks. Less messy to eat. In the end, I drain the fox, the largest rabbit, and three of the quail. It’s rather decadent. I never gorge myself like this. But it’s not often that such a range of creatures is right in front of me like this. I find myself appreciating the subtly different flavors of the animals’ blood. The fox is rangy, sharp, almost metallic. The rabbit is fatty and gamy. I decide the quail is my favorite. Pleasantly salty, with a hint of fried chicken. (Don’t judge. Vampires have discerning taste buds, too.)

When I can feel the blood sloshing pleasantly around in my stomach, I stand, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. I let the other animals go with a **fly away home.**

After a minute, I glance over at Snow. I expect him to look nauseated or horrified by what he’s just seen. But he doesn’t. He just flashes me his stupid grin and says, “That was awesome. They never saw it coming. You’re a pro at this, Baz.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

We walk back up to the castle, Snow narrating my hunting play by play. “And when you went for that rabbit! I was sure it was going to hop away, or maybe bite your hand, but you just grabbed its neck and it went limp, like a Vulcan nerve pinch.”

“Shut up, Snow,” I say. I pretend I’m not enjoying his weird obsession with my vampire talents. He is so strange.

It takes us far longer to walk back to Watford than I’d anticipated. I guess we went farther into the Wood than I realized. As we emerge from the thick tree border, I notice that it’s already gone quite dark outside. I glance toward the moat, hoping the Mage hasn’t pulled up the drawbridge just yet. Just then, I hear a creak of ropes and pulleys, and a faint splash as some gravel shifts into the moat.

“Oh, no,” I groan. I tug Simon’s arm and sprint toward the drawbridge. But it’s already too late. The heavy drawbridge is practically upright by the time we reach the edge of the moat.

Simon swears loudly. “Are we stuck out here now?”

“Yes,” I growl. “No thanks to the Mage. Paranoid git.” I’m mentally kicking myself. I knew we wouldn’t have enough time to go all the way out to the Wavering Wood. Stupid.

Simon curses again. “We’ll freeze out here!”

I frown. He’s right. There’s a cruel chill in the air, now the sun’s gone down. April nights are far from forgiving out here in the countryside. At least we thought to bring our cloaks.

“Come on, Snow. Get away from the moat. We’ll be seen.” Watford students are absolutely not allowed out of bounds after dark. We’re already on thin ice from our fight earlier today. They’ll kick us out if we’re caught. I resign myself to spending a long, cold night hiding out on the Watford grounds with my sworn enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their week just keeps getting better and better! I know it's cruel, but I just had to land them in yet another crazy predicament. (Sorry not sorry, boys!)
> 
> Anywhoozle, what do you think?? I know this chapter is short, but it's very late at night and my Baz voice was starting to get all silly and loopy and out of character so I figured I'd post while I was ahead!
> 
> I know everyone says this but comments seriously make my day and motivate me to keep writing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! Two chapters in as many days!!! 
> 
> This was originally part of chapter 5, but it was getting quite long-winded and I couldn't bring myself to cut anything out, so I just split the single chapter into two! So without further ado...chapter 6, folks!

#### SIMON

Just my luck. I guess I’ve now doomed myself to spending a long, cold night on the Watford grounds with my sworn enemy. I knew we should have gone back to the tower sooner, but it was just so cool and distracting, watching Baz hunt. He did it kind of shiftily, like he was embarrassed. Like he thought I’d faint or try to run screaming. (I didn’t. Obviously. I’m made of stronger stuff than that.) (Even if Baz did accuse me of being a Disney princess.)

I’ll admit, it was a little shocking, seeing him casually sink his teeth into small fluffy rabbits and birds. But it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I’ve known he was a vampire for the longest time. It’s just different, seeing him in action. I tried not to let him see that I was shaken, though. It was hard enough to get him to admit he needed to hunt. And now, even though we’re apparently stuck outside all night, Baz seems to be in a much better mood. And his hand isn’t completely ice cold around my wrist anymore. Just lukewarm.

“Let’s go find a place to camp out for the night,” Baz suggests.

“Guess we’ve got no other choice,” I say. We both glance around the rapidly darkening grounds for a minute, trying to scope out the best spot.

Eventually, Baz leads the way to the small grove of ancient yew trees on the other side of the grounds. The trees will provide some shelter from the wind, and they’re far enough from the Wavering Wood that we won’t be pestered by the Dark creatures that like to come out at night. We sit down under the largest tree, facing away from each other. I draw my knees up to my chest in an attempt to stay warm. Merlin, it really is freezing out here. And dark. And way too quiet. I can’t handle the quiet much longer. It’s starting to feel really awkward, pretty much holding Baz’s hand in the middle of the night, just the two of us under the grove of ancient trees.

“Baz?” I say quietly, breaking the long silence.

“What, Snow?”

“When did you first know you were a vampire?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly. “I was just curious.”

He sighs. I think he’s not going to answer, but then he says, “I think I’ve known since they turned me. I was five.”

I draw in a sharp gasp. “That’s really young. Crowley, Baz.”

“It didn’t really sink in until I was about eleven, though. My Dad quit giving me blood in plastic cups like he did when I was a kid. Said I had to learn to hunt on my own before I came to Watford.” 

I don’t know why he’s telling me all this. It’s not like him, sharing such personal details. But I guess we are on a truce. Or maybe he’s just trying to distract himself from the cold. I can feel him starting to shiver under his cloak. He’s always gotten cold way faster than me. Must be a vampire thing.

“Why do you have to hunt? Why can’t you just buy blood from a butcher or something? Keep it in a minifridge?”

“That wouldn’t be suspicious,” he scoffs. “The Coven definitely wouldn’t notice me sneaking out to the village butcher every week, coming back with tubs of blood. Plus, refrigerated blood is disgusting. Gets all congealed.”

I nod, taking this in. I suppose that would be pretty disgusting.

“What does blood taste like?” I ask after a minute.

“Uh, warm, I guess. Salty. Sometimes metallic. Depends on the animal.”

“Are they all different? What’s your favorite kind? Have you ever tried human blood?”

Baz flinches. “Of course not. I’m not a murderer.”

“I know you’re not. You wouldn’t have to kill a person to taste their blood. Couldn’t you just take a little, then stop?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this. You can’t walk away from half a sandwich.”

“You could get blood from a hospital, maybe. People donate it all the time.”

“That’s for the patients, Snow. You have a twisted mind, you know that? Why do you want to know all this stuff, anyway?”

I blush. “Penny and I have been talking about it since fifth year. Since we found out what you are.”

“Well, it’s creepy. Stop asking me weird personal questions.”

“You can ask me a weird personal question,” I offer.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“It’s only fair. Don’t you think it’s weird that we’ve been roommates for seven years, and we’re only just finding out stuff about each other?”

“No.” He turns away from me again, wrapping his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

“Well I think it’s weird. Come on, you can ask me anything. We’re on a truce, right? Can we maybe try to be friends?”

“I’m not being friends with the Mage’s heir,” He says scathingly.

“What do you have against the Mage, anyway? I mean, I know he took your Mum’s place and all. But she was dead. No offense. Somebody had to.”

“Could’ve been anyone. The Mage is a ridiculous dictator. He even has the mustache to prove it.”

“You and Penny are always making fun of his mustache. I don’t see what’s wrong with it. I think it looks fine. Cool. Retro. Maybe I’ll grow a mustache.”

“Don’t do that, Snow.”

We fall silent again, staring into the darkness in opposite directions. The night is eerily quiet. It’s too cold for crickets. The only sounds are the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant splash of a merwolf in the moat. The silence is less awkward now. It’s almost comfortable, sitting here next to Baz. Talking almost like we’re friends. Or at least not arch-nemeses. 

Well, not comfortable, exactly. Not physically. My arse is starting to go numb sitting on the hard ground, and there’s a tree root digging into my thigh. And then there’s the cold. As soon as the sun disappeared completely, it suddenly got brutally chilly. I can almost see our breath by the light of the moon. Baz is huddled in a tight ball, trying to suppress his shivering. His ears and nose are actually turning pink with cold. (I’ve never seen that happen before. He must have drunk a ton of blood tonight.)

I stare at Baz’s hand, clenched tightly around my wrist, resting on the ground in the foot of space between us. Crowley, he has such long fingers. And perfect, even fingernails. Mine are jagged, misshapen. I bite them, sometimes, when I’m stressed. Penny hates it. Baz’s fingers are starting to feel icy. He’s tucked his other hand under his armpit, under his school cloak. I guess vampires don’t have the best circulation. He shudders violently, involuntarily. The cold has always affected him more than me. I feel fine, right now. Not comfortable. But fine.

After about ten minutes of this, I’ve had enough. I bite my lip and shift closer to him, so our sides are touching. Shoulders, hips, thighs. It’s not much, but I can feel some warmth seeping through my trousers and into him. Baz stiffens, but doesn’t move away. I think he actually stops breathing for a minute. 

It’s new, being so close to him without fighting. I can’t decide if I like it. It still feels dangerous, this truce of ours. Volatile. I don’t completely trust him not to punch me again. (My bruised nose is still tender from this morning.) He’s still not moving, though. I press myself even closer to him, and he exhales sharply.

“Um,” I say hesitantly, “Is this okay? Should I move? This is weird, right? I can move.” I start to shift away from him, but his hand tightens on my wrist and pulls my arm a little closer.

“It’s fine, Snow. Might as well share body heat,” he mutters.

“Right. Don’t want to get hypothermia,” I say. 

We lapse into silence again. Baz is still curled in a tense ball beside me. But after a minute, I feel him relax slightly. Unwind his arms a bit. He leans a tiny bit closer into my side. My heart gives a strange jolt. (What’s that all about? Nerves, I guess. Sworn enemies, and all. Pavlovian response.)

I don’t know how long we sit like this, achingly still, not saying a word. Feels like hours. I actually feel myself getting drowsy, starting to nod off against the tree trunk behind me. Suddenly, Baz breaks the silence.

“How many foster homes have you been in?” he asks abruptly.

I turn my head to face him. “Why do you want to know?”

He sneers at me. “Just curious. I answered your dumb vampire questions. Your turn now.”

Fair enough. I did say he could ask me a personal question. I pause, trying to add them up in my head. “At least fourteen, that I can remember,” I say finally. “Probably more. I don’t remember the ones from when I was really little. They all start to blur together. Especially the Group Homes. Different one every summer. Sometimes two.”

Baz whistles softly. “That’s a lot. What a miserable childhood.”

I shrug. “It was all I knew. Taught me to make fast friends anywhere. Get along with loads of people. But never get too attached to anyone.”

“You never got along with me.”

“You didn’t let me. You were a stuck up twat in first year. Still are.”

Baz laughs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been perfectly civil to you today.”

“You punched me in the face!”

“If you only knew the times I’ve thought about punching you in the face but held back.”

“Same goes for me. I want to punch you at least once a day. More, since we’ve been stuck together.”

Baz nudges me in the shoulder lightly. “It’s a good thing we’re on a truce, then.” His teeth chatter slightly on the last words.

“You’re still freezing, aren’t you?”

“No,” he says, shivering.

“Um. I have an idea,” I say. “Sit still.” He narrows his eyes at me. 

I glance at our joined arms. This might be awkward…but surprisingly, I don’t actually want him freezing to death. I stand up and start to walk around behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Snow?”

“Shut up. I’m sharing body heat.” 

I tug on his arm, bringing our joined arms across the front of his chest. “I’m going to sit behind you,” I say. “Make room.”

Baz hesitates, but then he scoots forward, making a space for me to sit between him and the trunk of the yew tree. I circle around behind him and sit down, my legs on either side of him. I wrap the edges of my school cloak around his shoulders. It’s the first time I’ve appreciated the ridiculous Watford cloaks. I never wear mine, ordinarily. Makes me look like a tosser. But right now, sleeves are a bit of a problem with our arms joined, and the cloak is surprisingly convenient. Warm. And apparently big enough to wrap around two bodies. I try not to feel weird about the fact that Baz is practically sitting in my lap. (This isn’t weird. It’s for his own good.)

“Okay?” I ask.

Baz leans his back into my chest in response. His hair brushes my nose. He still smells like that posh shampoo he uses, even though I know for a fact he hasn’t showered in at least a day. (Crowley, why is my heart beating so fast? Can Baz feel it through his cloak? I hope not.)

“I’m fine,” he says. “Much warmer. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “This is fine.”

“Good. Who was the weirdest foster kid you ever made friends with?”

Apparently Baz wants to continue our conversation. Fine by me, I guess. “Nathan Hulet,” I say immediately. “He used to hold his breath for fun. He passed out from doing it once. Gave himself a concussion.”  
Baz laughs.

“Do you ever get animal fur in your teeth when you go hunting?” I ask. (What? Inquiring minds want to know.)

“That’s what dental floss is for,” Baz says. “When did you first find out you were a magician?”

“I went off when I was eleven. The group home I was in kind of exploded.”

“That’s insane, Snow. To be that powerful at age eleven and not even know it. Did the Normals ever find out it was you?”

“Hey. That’s two questions. Your turn.”

Baz shrugs. “Go on then.”

I think he’s expecting another vampire question. But a different question has just popped into my head, and I can’t unthink it. He might get mad and refuse to answer. But what the hell? No time like the present. 

“Who was your first girlfriend?” I blurt.

Baz coughs. “What? Why would you even ask that?” he splutters.

I grin. Baz is clearly embarrassed. This is hilarious. I’ve never caught him off guard like this before. “Come on, tell me her name. Do I know her? Does she go to Watford?”

“Never had a girlfriend,” Baz says tersely, clearly trying to sound composed.

“Come on. That must be a lie. I know you’ve never dated anyone during school. But surely over the summer? I mean, I’m not blind. Girls must be throwing themselves at you.” (I think of Agatha. I know she finds him attractive. She’s told me before. I tried not to be jealous.)

“Not really! I’ve never even wanted a girlfriend, Snow.”

“You wanted Agatha,” I say. “You’re always trying to get between me and her.”

Baz scoffs. “I’ve never wanted Wellbelove.”

“You flirt with her constantly.”

“Because it annoys you.” 

“You’re a jerk,” I say. I should be angrier at him right now. But actually, I’m finding it hard to summon up my usual fury. Agatha and I aren’t even together. She hasn’t even looked at me since she pushed me into the manure on Sunday, even though we share two classes. And right at this moment, weird as it sounds, I can’t even bring myself to care about her. Not when I can feel Baz’s firm back pressed against my chest. Not when my whole body is tingling from being so close to him and not tearing each other apart. (I try not to think about what this might mean.)

Baz sits up suddenly. “Shut up!”

“Hey, chill! I’m not—“

“No, Snow. Look,” he whispers. He’s pointing at the outer gate of Watford, which has just swung open. 

I squint in the darkness and make out a large, adult-sized figure slowly advancing closer to our position in the ancient yew trees. It’s probably a teacher, coming back from town this late at night. Or worse, it could be one of the Mage’s men. 

If we’re spotted, we’ll be expelled for breaking curfew. I curse under my breath. Baz reaches back and claps a hand over my mouth. My tongue darts out to lick his palm, and he flinches away, wiping his hand on his trousers. 

We both stare at the figure, which is swaying slightly. As it approaches, I can hear off-key, drunken singing. I recognize the voice. 

“Ebb!” I gasp. It comes out way louder than I’d intended. Baz whips around and glares at me.

The figure halts. “Who’s there?” she calls, stepping closer to the trees. I smile in relief as her face becomes clear in the moonlight. It is Ebb! I guess she’s coming back from a night in the village pub. It’s the only place she ever goes outside of Watford.

Baz is frantically making shushing gestures and yanking at my wrist, but I ignore him. “Ebb! Hey, over here! It’s me, Simon!”

“Simon Snow? What are you doing out so late? Where are you?” Ebb’s voice is slightly slurred.

I stand quickly and move out from behind the tree. Baz puts a hand to his forehead, exasperated. I tug him up to stand beside me.

“Mr. Pitch!” Ebb exclaims. I see her take in our joined hands. I can feel her jumping to conclusions quicker than lightning. “Oho! You naughty boys!” she crows. “Snuck out for a cheeky snog, did you? Got caught outside when the drawbridge closed?”

I feel my face heating up. Beside me, Baz lets out a sort of strangled whine. 

“No, no no no no,” I say quickly. “No, it’s not like that—Baz and I are—“

Ebb taps the side of her nose and winks. “I don’t judge. Love is love. I got up to plenty of cheeky mischief myself at school.”

“It’s really not like that,” Baz mutters. “Snow and I were just…out in the Wood. Um, going for a run. Lost track of time.”

Ebb nods knowingly. “Aha. _‘Going for a run.’_ I see how it is! You are cheeky, aren’t you, lads?” She laughs uproariously. 

“She’s drunk,” I whisper. My face is flaming with embarrassment.

“You think?” Baz hisses back.

“Um, Ebb? Can you maybe lower the drawbridge for us? Let us back up to the school?” I say loudly over her laughter.

“Oh, sure, Simon! ‘Course I can. But just this once. You know, I should tell the headmaster on you boys! Very naughty of you, caught out on the grounds after dark. Holding hands like that. You’re lucky I don’t snitch on you! But how could I, when you’re so adorable together? Ah, young love. I thought I had that, once, you know. A girl called Jessie. She broke my heart.” Ebb sniffs loudly. I can tell she’s about to start weeping.

“Ebb? The bridge,” I remind her. “We need to get back before anyone sees.”

Ebb heaves a great sigh. “Right you are, Simon.” She points her wand at the drawbridge, casting it down. It lowers obediently, crashing down loudly on our side of the moat. 

“Hurry now,” Ebb says. “I’ll cover for you, but no detours! You two had better head straight to bed. Your own separate beds!” She adds, chuckling.

Baz and I take off running toward the bridge.

“Don’t break his heart, Mr. Pitch,” Ebb calls after us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the "huddle for warmth" trope. It's ridiculous and cheesy, which I feel is appropriate for Snowbaz. Crazy kids! (Also, Ebb is wonderful.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen to [ this song](https://youtu.be/jVqR2PwX428) as you read the chapter, it will probably enhance your reading experience. I'll insert the link again at the relevant point in the chapter

####  BAZ 

When we get back up to our tower room, neither of us speaks for a long minute.

Snow rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, ducking his head, refusing to meet my gaze. “Well that was awkward,” he says.

“We're just lucky Ebb let us back in. You'd better hope she doesn't tell the mage.”

“She thought we were snogging, Baz. She thought we were gay!” Snow’s voice is pained.

I swallow. “I am.”

“What?”

“Snow. I am gay.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his long neck. I can see the gears turning in his head. I don't like his expression. Something crumples inside me.

I sneer bitterly. “So you have no problem with me being a vampire, but when you find out I'm a poof--”

Snow splutters. “No! Baz, no, of course I don't have have a problem that you're gay. Why would you--ugh. No, it's really good, actually.”

I fight to keep my face still. (What does he mean by that?) “Why is that good?”

Snow clears his throat. “Well, it just means you really never were trying to pull Agatha, were you?”

“No, Snow, I already told you this.”

“Yeah, but I thought--”

“Look, let's not make this a thing, okay?”

“So are we just not going to talk about--”

“Nope.”

“But I just want--”

“Snow. Shut up.”

He closes his mouth like a fish. After a second, he takes a deep breath. “It's okay, you know. To be gay,” he blurts.

I roll my eyes mightily. “I know it's _okay to be gay,_ Snow. You don't need to tell me that.”

“Okay. Um, okay. Good.”

I sigh, pressing my fingers into my closed eyes. Merlin, it's been a long night. “Anything else you need to say to me? I'm tired, and I need to shower.”

“Nope. I'm good.” Snow is smiling. “Just...thanks for telling me.”

I heave an exasperated sigh and turn toward the bathroom. _Merlin give me strength._

#### PENNY

When I come down for breakfast in the morning, Simon and Baz are already in the dining hall. Simon is already halfway through a massive pile of scones, as per usual. Baz is gripping his large coffee mug in one hand and gazing at Simon’s scone plate with an expression I can't quite decipher. His hair is still damp from a shower. I fight back a snicker. Must have been the awkwardest shower in the history of all showers, considering that he and Simon are still firmly conjoined.

“Good morning boys!” I say brightly, coming up behind their table.

Baz gives me a small nod. “Morning, Bunce.”

“Penny!” Simon shouts through a mouthful of scone. It sounds more like “Pfennig!” Soggy crumbs fly everywhere, and Baz brushes them from his sleeve with an expression of pure disgust. I have to agree with him there. Simon has the table manners of an orphan brought up by monkeys, despite years of my constant nagging. 

I sit down across from them at the breakfast table. “I see no one has killed each other in the night. Well done.”

“We're on a truce,” Simon announces. “Decided it was best to quit working against each other, at least for now.”

“Is that so? How very civil of you. I don't think I'd have lasted this long in your shoes,” I say.

“Ugh, I know--being stuck to Baz is the worst!” cries Simon.

“I was talking to Baz,” I clarify. “I'd much rather be stuck to him than you, Simon. No offense. He has much nicer manners.”

Baz gives a snort of laughter. “Oooh, that's gotta hurt, Snow. Burned by your own best friend.”

Simon is indignant. “You would not! Don't tell me you'd choose to be stuck to a vamp--”

Baz digs his fingers hard into Simon’s wrist. “Say anything more and I'll--”

“Oh come on, Baz. She already knows.”

“What do I know?” I interrupt. 

“Pen, we've known since fifth year that Baz is a--”

“Seriously, shut up, Snow.” Baz has gone pale and he's looking around the dining room frantically, checking to see if anyone is in hearing distance. I understand immediately. 

“It’s okay, Pitch,” I quickly assure him. “I guessed about your “special diet” ages ago. No need to announce it to the school.”

Baz tries to look cool, but I can see the relief on his face. I shoot a pointed glare at Simon, who actually has the grace to look abashed.

“So it's confirmed, then?” I ask Simon in a hushed tone. “You actually saw him, y’know…”

Simon’s face splits into a wide grin. “Yeah, it was awesome, you should have seen when he went in for the kill! He's like a professional predator!”

I grimace. “Was it really violent? He didn't get blood everywhere, did he? Did you see his fangs?” 

“Yeah, they're huge! Dunno where he keeps them when he's not using them. Maybe he--”

“Enough! I'm sitting right here,” Baz growls. 

“Right, sorry, no more vampire talk in the dining hall,” I say, even though I'd love to sit Baz down and interrogate him for an hour about the logistics of being what he is. Like, does the blood he drinks actually go through his circulation system? Or does he digest it like regular food? Does he even need regular food to survive? _Can_ he actually survive, if he's technically dead?

“Didn't you write to your parents about spellbreaking?” Baz asks.

“I emailed my mother Sunday night.”

“Did she reply?” Simon is eager. “Did she tell us how to break the curse? Because I am so ready to be done with this.” He thumps his and Baz’s hands on the table in emphasis.

I sigh. “You know it's not that straightforward, right? It's not easy reversing a misfired spell. Especially your kind of spell. Your magic is unreliable at the best of times, and when you mix it with such a weird freak mistake...well. There's just no telling how we're going to solve this.”

Simon frowns. “I know I'm crap at magic, Pen. You don't have to keep rubbing it in.”

“Sorry, I'm just saying it like it is. But anyway, my mum did write me back last night.”

Baz leans over the table, narrowly missing dipping his tie in his coffee mug. “What did she say?”

I dig my laptop from my bag. Clearing a spot on the breakfast table, I open it and pull up my mother's email. 

> “Dear Penny,
> 
> It sounds like that Simon has really gotten himself in a sticky situation this time. (Pardon the pun.) This may actually be worse than the time he gave himself two left feet when you were in fourth year. It took me several days to find a suitable turn of phrase for that counterspell, and even then I didn't find the perfect one. I think two of his right toes are actually still left toes, bless him.
> 
> Unfortunately, this time I am extremely busy with my research. I have an important deadline coming up and I simply don't have time to devote to your friend's ridiculous problem. I'm sorry, but it looks like you and your friends are your own this time to find a counterspell, dear. On the plus side, this will be very educational for you and Simon and Basilton. I expect that you will all need to use this sort of skill often when you graduate Watford. 
> 
> A word of advice about the nature of counterspells: In order to find the most effective counterphrase, one must first understand the linguistic, cultural, and historical implications of the original incantation. Research the Words Simon used in detail, and try to find a closely related phrase to contradict them. Spells can often be classified in families. If the original Words came from song lyrics, for example, you would have the most luck searching for a counterspell from a similar song. 
> 
> Good luck, darling. Please let me know what you figure out. It would be interesting to note in my countercurse research database. Must dash, I have a conference call with my research assistants in five.
> 
> Love,  
>  Mum”

 

Baz finishes reading the email and shoves the laptop away from him with a scowl. “Tell your mum thanks for nothing, Bunce. Fat lot of good that does us. And she calls herself a professor.” he shakes his head. 

I glare at him. “Watch it, Pitch. That's my mother you're talking about. If she says she doesn't have time, she doesn't have time.”

Simon is still scanning his eyes over the email. When he's done, he says, “Quit being so negative, Baz! Dr Bunce knows what she's talking about. At least we know where to start now.”

“You said it was Elvis lyrics, right Simon?”

He nods. “Yeah, it was ‘Stuck on You.’”

Well, it's no wonder that his spell went so wrong. Elvis lyrics have the tendency to manifest in over-enthusiastic, often misguided ways. I expect it has a lot to do with “the King’s” notorious hysterical, screaming fanbase. If mad fangirls were mostly the ones who perpetuated Elvis’ lyrics, it makes sense that any magic produced with Elvis songs would be slightly insane and unpredictable. 

“Basil, you ought to download all of Elvis’ greatest hits on your iPod,” I suggest. “You and Simon can listen to that between classes today, see if you can find some potential cursebreaking lyrics.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “I'll have to delete half my music library for that.”

“Deal with it,” says Simon. “It’s the best lead we have.”

The bell rings, signaling that it's time to head to morning classes. 

“We’ll regroup after supper,” I say. “Take notes on anything you think might be promising! I'll do some research of my own.”

Simon gives me a wave over his shoulder as Baz leads him quickly out of the room. As hilarious as it is to watch those two stuck together, I know we've got to fix this soon, or one of them might end up with a maimed wrist from the other taking a chainsaw to it.

####  BAZ 

All this touching is new. Last night broke down some kind of barrier between Simon and me. I guess once you've practically spooned a person in the yew grove in the middle of the night, it's silly to keep sitting as far from them as possible. Especially when you're already joined at the wrist.

As we go about our day, Snow keeps reaching into my space with casual touches like it's no big deal. A light press on my shoulder as he reached across me for his toothbrush this morning. A brush on the back of my hand when he wanted something at the breakfast table. A nudge with his knee when Miss Possibelf said something amusing in class. (I don't think he even realizes he’s doing it.) 

At first it’s so bizarre, having Snow touch me with no malicious intent. I stiffen at the slightest contact, shivers rushing over my skin from the point his skin touches mine. I keep fighting not to cringe away from him. Or worse, lean into his touch like the swooning fool I am. Or even crawl right into his lap and snog him senseless, like I imagined myself doing last night when he curled his body around me for warmth.

Slowly, I begin to relax into sort of a middle ground. I ignore the goosebumps when he taps my leg to get my attention in History. I don't even flinch when his hand brushes mine when he hands me a pencil in PoliSci. And I fight back a surge of glee when he doesn't bat an eye when I start to do it back. I nudge my shoulder against his as we navigate the crowded hallway. I grab his bicep to direct him out of the way of of a passing gaggle of first years. And once, daringly, I reach up to pluck a piece of fluff from his hair when I catch sight of it during lunch. 

Despite this new casual status quo, though, it's still bloody inconvenient being attached to Simon. I'm more than sick of not having the use of my right hand because it's locked around Snow’s wrist. And I didn't realize how much I used to take privacy in the loo for granted. Merlin, I hope this counterspell theory of Penny’s mum gets us somewhere. 

As soon as I have access to the library's spotty wifi during study hall, I download every one of Elvis Presley’s greatest hits onto my iPod. Simon and I sit at the corner table furthest from the librarian so he won't notice we’re not exactly doing schoolwork. Simon unearths a tattered notebook and a chewed pen from his bag.

“So we should start with the song where I got my original from,” Simon says, reaching out to grab my iPod. 

“Don't touch my things, Snow. I’ll find it.” I scroll through the S’s to find [ “Stuck on You.”](https://youtu.be/jVqR2PwX428) [LINK] I shove one earbud into my ear and give Simon the other. 

As soon as the familiar rock-n-roll beat starts, Simon’s shoulders begin to shimmy. I smack a palm to my face and watch through my fingers as he flings his fingers out into jazz hands. When Elvis begins singing, Simon lip-syncs passionately into an invisible microphone. 

_”You can shake an apple off an apple tree/ Shake-a, shake-a sugar but you’ll never shake me/ Uh-uh-uh!”_

“Quit making a fool of yourself! People are staring!” I hiss. 

Simon just smirks and points finger guns at me as he continues mouthing the lyrics. _”I’m gonna stick like glue/ Stick because I’m/ Stuck on you!”_

He keeps up his ridiculous lip-syncing, but his eyes lock on my hair as we hear the next lyric.

_“Gonna run my fingers thru your long black hair / Squeeze you tighter than a grizzly bear / Uh-uh-uh”_

Simon enthusiastically mouths the chorus into his imaginary mic, but his shimmying dance moves slow to a stop as Elvis continues singing.

_“Hide in the kitchen, hide in the hall / Ain’t gonna do you no good at all / ‘Cause once I catch ya and the kissin’ starts / A team o’ wild horses couldn’t tear us apart!_

Am I imagining things, or did his gaze drop to my lips when the song mentioned kissing? I stare studiously at my hand locked around Snow’s wrist as Elvis keeps crooning in our ears. Simon quits his stupid dance routine, and I see the color rise to his cheeks out of the corner of my eye as the song talks about love and kissing.

As the final chorus fades out, I yank the earbuds out unceremoniously. “Well that was informative,” I say dryly. 

When I glance up, Simon has schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “Was it? I mean, I already knew all those lyrics, didn't you?”

“No wonder your spell backfired,” I say, trying to sound as insulting as possible to cover up the way my eyes keep darting to Simon’s full lips. “Your magic always makes things so literal. The song is clearly about people, not arts-and-crafts glue.”

Simon blushes hotly. “Well, obviously. No one sings about arts and crafts.”

I heave a sigh and turn back to my iPod. “Guess we should start looking for possible counterspells now.”

####  AGATHA 

I’m fuming. Simon hasn't spoken a single word to me since Sunday afternoon. I know it's probably a bit silly for me to be this angry at him, but I'm absolutely fed up with this hot and cold game we've been playing for so many months now. I need him to decide once and for all if he really wants to be with me, because if not, I have a lot of other plans for my life that don't involve him. I've resolved to give him an ultimatum: either commit to me heart and soul, or not at all. No more of this wishy washy we-are-endgame-but-I'll-only-give-you-my-full-attention-when-it's-convenient crap. 

As I storm into the library, I scan the room for Simon. I finally spot him hunched over the far corner table with, of all people, Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Of course. I forgot about Simon’s latest magical fiasco. I'd much rather talk to him in private, without his arch-nemesis listening in, but some things simply can’t be helped. I march over to their table. All the words I want to say say to Simon are practically jumping from the tip of my tongue.

My steps falter as as I watch Baz lean in very close to Simon. He reaches up to the side of Simon’s face and gently places something in his ear. Is that? No. It can't be. Simon and Baz are sharing earbuds! Simon reaches a hand up to adjust his earbud. His hand brushes Baz’s, and Baz jumps. Simon doesn’t remove his fingers from Baz’s pale ones, which are still resting on the side of his face near his ear. The boys lock eyes, and suddenly, everything becomes painfully clear to me. 

Simon has never looked at me that way. Not once, in all the years we've been a couple. I inhale sharply. All the nasty words I had for Simon have flown right out of my mouth. I no longer want to pin him to a wall and give him my ultimatum. It's clear now, where things stand between us. I could never compete with that look he's giving Baz.

What's even more surprising is the look Baz is giving back. He looks a little drunk. I can practically see hearts in his eyes as he gazes at Simon. Once, I thought I might have a chance with Baz if things didn't work out with Simon. He certainly gave me enough hints that he didn't want us together. But now it's obvious, the reason why he pulled me away from Simon at every school dance. The way he always glared at us whenever we held hands or kissed in the hallways. Baz is in love with Simon!

I stand up straight snd approach their table, clearing my throat loudly. Baz snatches his hand away from Simon’s face, and Simon clumsily leaps from his chair.

“Agatha!” he cries. “I've been wanting to talk to you since Sunday! I'm sorry for what happened. I was stupid. Are we okay? You still want to be my girlfriend, right? Because we're endgame, you and me. Right?” His words are coming out almost faster than he can say them. It's pathetically adorable. 

I can't help but roll my eyes at him. Can he actually still be oblivious to this thing that clearly exists between him and Baz? Surely he can't miss the fact that Baz’s expression turned murderous the second Simon spotted me coming toward them.

“Oh, sit down and shut up, Simon,” I tell him.

He does.

I sit across from the boys. Simon waits expectantly for me to say my piece. I take a deep breath, expecting to feel tears pricking at my eyes. That's what's supposed to happen when you break up with your boyfriend, right? But, shockingly, the only thing I feel is a sense of relief. 

“I was never actually in love with you,” I blurt.

“You--what?” Simon is aghast.

“No, don't be mad at me! I don't hate you. We just don't work together. We never have. It was just convenient--everyone expected it, you know. The Chosen One and the pretty blonde darling of society.”

Simon’s mouth gapes open like a fish. Baz’s expression is unreadable. I force myself to keep talking. 

“We made sense for a while, Simon. We really did. But now...I want other things in my life. I don't want to be the Chosen One’s girl anymore. And I think I’m going to move to America for University. A Normal university. So, there’s that.”

My words hang heavily in the air for a long moment. I can't tell if he's angry or not. His face is a blank mask. He just looks sort of stunned. “Say something, Simon,” I plead.

He blinks several times. “I, um. Yeah, no, that makes sense,” he finally gets out.

“It does?” Baz and I say at the same time. I give him a warning look. This thing with me and Simon is none of his business. (Except, actually, if he really has feelings for Simon, maybe it's completely his business.)

“Yeah. It makes sense, Aggie. Like you said...people just expected you and me. I think we, er, we were growing apart for awhile.”

I nod in agreement. I feel like a breakup like this should be a lot more dramatic, after Simon and I have been a couple for so many years. But it kinda just feels normal. Inevitable. It’s hardly even painful. In fact, it feels like a weight is being lifted off my chest. I feel free for the first time in forever. 

“You're taking this surprisingly well, Snow,” Baz says suspiciously. 

Simon looks at me. “Yeah, well, I--”

His words are cut off by an thunderous crash and an ear splitting shriek as the skylight above us shatters. The quiet library erupts into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and here we leave them, hanging from another cliff! (Srry not srry)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I'm back after like two and a half months haha. I hope this chapter satisfies, as it took nearly that long to write the cursed thing. Haha but I love it now, and I hope you will too!
> 
> Also, I added in a teeny scene to the beginning of the previous chapter. Initially I decided not to include it but then I decided it was necessary (not to mention painfully adorable) so I put it back in. That's the peril of publishing fic as it's written, I guess. You can go back and reread chapter 7 first, if you like, or not--my addition isn't super necessary to the plot!
> 
> And now, without further ado, I present to you CHAPTER 8: THE ATTACK OF THE GRYPHON!

#### SIMON

I leap to my feet as shattered glass rains down on terrified students in the center of the library. My hand is already at my hip, reaching for my sword through pure muscle memory and instinct. A giant gryphon, with the front half of an eagle and the back half of a lion, has just burst through the skylight, and judging from its frantic eagle screeches as it circles the vaulted ceiling, it is not pleased.

 _Not another monster attack._ I groan internally. I mean, I really should just expect things like this by now. The humdrum has been very quiet lately, and it was starting to make me nervous. Like he was just biding his time, plotting something huge. Plotting to take me out for good. Fat chance it'll work this time, though. It's only a gryphon. Dangerous and highly magical, yes, but overall a dim sort of creature. I've defeated worse.

I guess I don't even know if it _was_ the Humdrum who sent the gryphon. I don't really care _who_ did, to be honest. All I know is, it really pisses me off. Just what I need--a dark creature attack, on top of everything else. This week has already been one of the most grueling of my life. I mean, I failed a Latin test, my girlfriend just broke up with me, and, oh yeah, I happen to be literally stuck to my worst enemy. (Even if we are on a truce.) Of course this would be the week for a random monster attack. Because my life is a party.

I squint up into the light streaming through the broken skylight and get a good look at the gryphon silhouetted against the vaulted ceiling. Its massive eagle’s wings span at least 10 feet, and it reeks of rotten meat and something sour. As it circles lower, screeching at an ear-splitting decibel, its heavy lion’s paws graze at the tops of bookshelves. Behind me, I hear the librarian’s anguished cry as a shelf topples, knocking stacks of old books to the ground.

Students are tripping over each other, racing for the door and screaming and generally causing mass chaos. Running away doesn't even occur to me; obviously I'm going to stand and fight. Dimly, I notice Baz also standing his ground beside me. He hasn't even attempted to pull me towards the door. He has his wand out and is casting **run for your lives!** on the other students. 

“DUCK!” I yell as the gryphon hurtles toward us. I raise my sword and the gryphon howls in agony as I nick its wing. It recoils and reels back toward the ceiling for safety. I swing my blade uselessly up at it.

“Sheath your sword, idiot!” Baz yells.

“Oi! I've been practicing with this thing!”

“You’re going to decapitate someone!”

“Give me some credit! I will not!” Even in the middle of an attack, Baz still feels the need to criticize my every move. It's bloody annoying. 

“LOOK OUT!” 

I duck out of the way as the gryphon swoops low again, claws grazing my hair. I swing my blade at it again, but miss.

Baz has his wand out and is shouting curses at the gryphon, driving it back, back towards the far wall, trying to corner it into submission. I'm doing my best with my sword, but the flying gryphon hardly ever swoops low enough for me to graze it. My blade is not very effective against a foe who can fly and dodge so easily, but I don't trust myself enough with a wand for my magic to do any good, either. The gryphon is fighting back, dodging Baz’s magic and my blade with frightening ease. It’s pushing us step by step back toward the center of the library. We leap over tables and shove aside chairs in our path.

The other students have mostly cleared off by now, herded out the door by the cowardly librarian. It's just me and Baz now, and we’re standing back to back on top of the circulation desk. I swing my blade wildly as the gryphon dive bombs us, now the only moving targets in the room. I can feel my magic tingling just under the surface, struggling to break free, but there's so much adrenaline coursing through me that I'm pretty sure I'd just go off if I tried to use any spells right now. And I'm not sure what would happen if I went off while Baz is touching me. It would definitely knock him out, maybe even kill him. And I absolutely could not handle that right now. 

I'm not sure how we're doing this, but Baz and I are actually an excellent battle team. We've been working seamlessly together, lunging in the same direction, anticipating each other’s timing, ducking or jumping aside at the same moment every single time. It's sort of exhilarating. Even fun. 

I glance around and see that even Baz is grinning wildly as he shouts spells up at the gryphon. Blocking spells, shielding spells, striking spells, fire spells. I'm a little in awe of his ability to shout spell after spell with hardly time to breathe in between. But the gryphon doesn't seem to be too bothered by Baz’s magic; it just retreats up to the ceiling each time a new spell gets too close.

I can feel my wrist heating up as some of Baz’s magic escapes through his palm, sparking and licking at my arm where he still grips me tightly. It gives me an idea. A crazy, stupid idea that will never work. But what the hell--I’m going to try it anyway. I focus on the point on my arm where he's gripping me, all hot and electric and already buzzing with both our magic, and I just _push_ some of my magic into him.

Baz freezes for a second, and his voice gets louder mid-spell. The jet of fire he’s been aiming suddenly shoots far above our heads and hits the creature in the exposed abdomen. Apparently gryphons are extremely flammable, because it lights up like an oily rag, screeching and howling in agony as it careens and spirals toward the ground. 

The burning gryphon hits the floor with an almighty thud and falls abruptly, chillingly, quiet. My ears are ringing in the sudden deathly silence. My magic is still coursing through my right arm, straight into Baz.

 **”Stop, drop, and roll,”** Baz murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear.

The flaming body of the gryphon is extinguished immediately, like all the oxygen has been sucked from the flames at once. A curl of smoke rises from the stinking carcass. A few errant book pages flutter to the ground amid toppled bookcases and chairs. Baz is breathing hard next to me, as though he's just run a race. I slowly withdraw my magic from him, pulling it back into myself and closing off a barrier between us. Baz sags against a desk when my power leaves him. I can feel him trembling beside me.

“Merry Morgana, Snow--what was that?”

My whole arm is tingling where it’s connected to Baz, remnants of my magic still darting into his palm. It shouldn't be possible, what we just did. Baz just used my magic--directed it--in a way I've never been able to do on my own. It was like I was using him as my magical instrument, pushing my magic through him like everyone tells me me it should work with a wand. It was incredible. 

“No idea what that was...but it was fun,” I say, unable to keep a wide grin from cracking across my face.

Baz looks up and meets my gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and his expression is dazed, almost like he’s drunk. He lets out a gust of laughter--a bit wild, like the night we wrestled over my chocolate. My stomach gives a strange swoop, and my heart flutters erratically. I like him like this, I realize. This new Baz I'm only just getting to know. This Baz whose laughter is spontaneous and genuine, not malicious or calculated or forced in any way. He feels like a person, not an enemy.

The door to the library bursts open, and a hoarde of teachers and students come crashing in. Everyone takes in the toppled furniture, the piles of books, the smoking gryphon carcass in the middle of the floor. They see that Baz and I are standing close in the center of the room, clearly unharmed. 

“Crisis averted,” I say to the room at large.

“But the books!” mourns the librarian, surveying the damage to his precious collection.

“Oh, forget the sodding books a minute. Are you boys hurt?” says Miss Possibelf, picking her way over strewn furniture and collapsed bookshelves to get to us.

“We're fine, Miss,” I assure her. “Baz was amazing with his spellwork. Took down the gryphon in like five minutes.”

“Did he, now?” She eyes Baz approvingly. “Well done, Mr Grimm-Pitch.”

Baz nods in acknowledgment. 

“I'm only sorry the teachers weren't here to help,” says Miss Possibelf. “We were all in a staff meeting, you know. Came as soon as we heard the gryphon was attacking. But it looks like you boys had things well in hand.”

“Thanks, Miss,” I say.

“You ought to go back to your room now, boys. Rest a bit before dinner. We’ll tidy up here.” she shoos us out of the library. 

Baz doesn't need to be told twice. He plows us through the crowd of gaping students and staff, barely acknowledging anybody as he drags me toward Mummer’s House with purpose.

###### . 

When we get to our room, he slams the door and backs me straight into a wall.

“Do that again, Snow.”

“Do what?” I can't think when he’s pinning me to the wall like this.

“That thing you did with your magic.” Baz’s eyes are bright. I've never seen him look this way before. 

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to hurt you.” (And I'm surprised to find it's true.)

“You won't,” he insists.

My magic is going berserk right now, racing up and down my arms and buzzing through my head and trying to leap into Baz where he grips my wrist. I'm struggling to keep it under control. 

“If I went off on you right now--when we're stuck together like this--” I swallow, trying not to picture the disaster. 

“I trust you,” Baz whispers.

He's standing so close to me, our foreheads are almost touching. My heart is just about beating out of my chest. I've never seen his face so close before. Suddenly, I want to kiss him. My brain can't think about anything else. I close my eyes, hoping the feeling will disappear. I tell myself it would be a really, colossally bad idea to kiss Baz. Honestly. A completely terrible idea. I'm not even gay. (He is, though.)

“Simon.”

_Oh, sod it._

I surge forward and capture his lips with mine.

Baz freezes as I push my lips into his. He's so cold, colder than I imagined. And he's not moving. His lips are stiff and closed under mine.

Crowley, I've made a huge mistake.

I start to pull back, but suddenly Baz draws a deep, shuddering breath, and all at once he's kissing me back. Kissing me like he needs this. Like he's been waiting years for this moment. Like kissing is oxygen.

His lips are hard and soft at the same time. Hungry, desperate, meeting mine messily but fervently. Kissing Baz is like a challenge. He keeps daring me to pull back, to stop kissing him, to realize this is crazy. It is crazy. I'm kissing a boy. I'm kissing _Baz._ But I don't want to stop.

I bring my free hand up and curl my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. Baz gasps. All at once, his tongue meets mine, and now our tongues are warring, pushing themselves into each other’s mouths, and it's so good. Better than anything I've ever done before. Better than magic.

Baz’s grip is tight around my wrist, and his other hand is scrabbling at my back, gripping at my shirt, roaming up to my shoulders and down to my waist with abandon. I feel my magic sparking everywhere he touches, following his hand around my back in blistering trails. My skin blazes with magic at every point of contact with Baz. My wrist, the back of my neck where his fingers have settled. My lips. I feel like I might burst from the intensity of it.

I let my magic go a bit, push it into him where he's touching me. Baz groans into my mouth, and I think I see stars.

I drop my hand from his neck to the middle of his back and crush him closer to me, deepening our kiss still further. My magic is pulsing into him in waves, drawing us closer together. One of us is shaking, or maybe both of us. It's too much and not enough. The heat is intense and my magic is crackling between us and I can't think anything but his name. _Baz. **Baz.**_

A thunderous BOOM sounds outside our tower window, loud enough to shake the floor. My head whips up, away from Baz’s mouth. I glance out the window in time to see the fizzing sparks of a firework.

“Did you do that?” I ask.

Baz turns to look as another giant firework explodes across the sky outside our window.

“I think it was you,” he breathes.

“Yeah, maybe,” I laugh shakily. Three more fireworks go off in quick succession. Baz tightens his arm around my waist, and I don't know why we're not still kissing. 

My magic is still flowing freely into him, and Baz’s expression is dazed. He's breathing erratically, almost hyperventilating. Suddenly I feel like he might collapse. My power might actually be too much for him. I pull my magic back from Baz, and the fireworks outside immediately cease. 

“That's probably a little bit dangerous,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against his.

“You are a little bit dangerous, Snow,” Baz huffs.

“You called me Simon before.”

“No I didn't.”

I take a step forward, backing him up. Pushing him towards our beds. My mattress is still on the floor, and he staggers and trips, pulling me over on top of him as we fall onto my bed. My weight pins him to the mattress. I hover over him on all fours for a second, and then I can't stand it. I lean down and kiss him again.

He meets me with with an open mouth and blissfully closed eyes. I like him like this. Underneath me. Just exactly where I want him.

“Simon,” Baz mumbles.

And I grin against his mouth.

###### . 

A long time later, we're lying on my bed facing each other, legs tangled together. Baz’s lips are flushed. I can't stop smiling.

“I still don't want to be stuck to you,” says Baz, even as his thumb is rubbing slow circles into my wrist where we're connected.

“Wouldn't be so terrible,” I say cheekily, nudging him in the side with my free hand.

“Yes it would,” Baz insists. “You still drive me insane.”

“I know.” I lean forward and softly bite his lower lip.

“I still kind of want to murder you.” His grip tightens painfully around my wrist.

I laugh. “Okay--same,” I admit, flexing my hand. I really would like to have my own arm back, and soon. And I imagine Baz feels the same way.

“It must be almost dinnertime. Let's go talk to Penny,” I suggest. 

We haul ourselves up from the bed, adjusting our disheveled clothing as we stand. Baz reaches up to smooth his hair. It's properly mussed. (I did that.)

“D’you think people will know we were snogging?”

“Crowley, Snow, I don't know. Ebb guessed we were, even when we weren't, last night.”

“Maybe we should have been.”

Baz’s cheeks flush. I've never seen him like this, all flustered and wrinkled at the edges. I kind of love it.

“Let's go down to tea,” I say. I can't resist pressing a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Lead the way, Snow.”

“It's Simon.”

Baz just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........
> 
> I did it guys. I wrote a kissing scene. Omg. (That was rlly hard to do and I don't know why but I think I did ok??.) TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF IT plz, I live for your comments. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 
> 
> There is one final chapter coming, folks! Thanks for sticking with me thru this story!


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